You thumbed grit
into my furrowed brow,
marking me
with the sign of mortality,
the dust of last year’s palms.
The cross you traced
seared, smudged skin,
and I recalled other ashes
etched
into my heart
by those who love too little
or not at all.
- Elizabeth-Anne Vanek in Extraordinary Time
Image: Nola.com 2009LentPostCollection
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