HOLY TUESDAY

The wind whips up little dust tornadoes,
the sky darkens to a colorless shade.
I never learned a whit from a good day
so now I bend my ear to hear the truth.

People rush to their homes holding their scarves
across their nose and mouth so they can breath.
A stench of betrayal seeps from the ground
revealed by the pounding of running feet.

We’re guilty but refuse to wear that name
since dirty fingers point to each of us.
Trying to get lost in the confusion
we go to our dark rooms to pray for light.

But then the sound of grackles in bare trees,
cackling since they’ve witnessed the raw truth
scare us to our knees, tripping and falling,
we pray that in our time we’ll drink His cup.