Death and Dust

A poem for Ash Wednesday.

I went to burn the palm fronds
For the Ash Wednesday service,
But when I looked, there weren’t any.

Remember?
There were no palms last spring,
Nor were there bodies in this building.
Here I am left holding the bag
Of one more thing taken away
By this year’s passion play.

“Shake it off,” I tell myself.
Don’t let it take hold
The one-more-thing of thousands
Of smears imposed
In marks of death and dust
Streaked with lines of tears
By COVID’S cold finger.

And with that push,
I set out again to forsake despair
That I might arrive again at
Resurrection.

© Randall Edwards 2021
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged by randamir. Bookmark the permalink.

About randamir

I pastor Grace Presbyterian Church in Kernersville, North Carolina which locals fondly refer to as K-vegas -- the town not the church. As D.T. Niles once said, "I am not important except to God."

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