A few minutes past Ash Wednesday,

and already I'm behind on my commitment.

All this work, taking care of family,

and then the imposition of ashes.

At home there is the eating and bathing and getting ready for bed.

Then more work, interspersed with highlights and scores from ESPN.

Before I know it, it is already after midnight.

No wonder this is the season of repentance.

I must begin by confessing my failure to start properly,

and I feel like a hiker who has fallen over

just as he stands up.

Up late again, hating my pen.

I'm grading papers now

because I allowed time

to drift on through

as if I had nothing left

but crime.

More foolish than youth

is the old man

who knows the limits of his wing span

and tries to fly anyway.

This at night

by the light

of an extinguished candle.

So much more to do.

Grade: exams and essays.

Meetings: search committees, student conferences.

And for you, verses.

I laugh at the joke I've made

of me. I judge others' work

but within my dark room lurks

one who flings curses

like a lover too cruel to leave

the self he makes grieve.

When I first became a Christian,

I thought I loved Lent.

Scrubbing off a layer of dirt

and like a child who forgets

to wash his neck or feet,

I emerge feeling clean.

But I'm really scraping off skin

and often more against this sharp rock.

See, I'm not a kid but a snake

coiled around my tail,

tonguing the air, I'm afraid

of and strike at everything.

Now I know why I avoid mirrors

and why I must keep looking.

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