Ash Wednesday

priests used to awe me
thumbs dipped in black, 
edging grainy smudged crosses
on each upturned forehead 


    d
    r    
d r a a g
    a
    g

our pew of tartan skirts
a chain of firing synapses
squeezing the hand of the
next girl in restive waves 

the weight of mass lifts
we chase one another across
the frozen school parking lot
gathering about the washroom mirrors

plaid-frocked, self conscious
comparing ash marks
we all envy one smudge
an honest to goodness cross!

for what cannot be wrought
into suffering?  

amen.