An American Lent

By John Blase | February 26, 2014 |

So we’ll burn last year’s palms and

darken ourselves with ash so as to conjure

once more the sleeping passion. We know it

will take a while, we’ve been here before.

I say its a lot like rubbing a lamp for forty days

until your palms bleed and the young genie

finally squeezes himself out of the neck’s eye,

free at last to stretch his cramped arms in

the rush of lilies, then grant us our wishes.

You say no, no, its not like that at all, it is

a time for remembrance and examen.

I say maybe, and ready my hands.