Across the intent solemnity of clergy
Struggling to "get it right",
To start Lent "fit for purpose",
Longing to attempt
The inmost depths
Of intimacy with God -
(or maybe simply pondering
The pancake party, sermon series,
Burning palms for ash,
And all the chores
To keep the parish grinding duly on)-
But still, amid intent solemnity
She walks, set to begin her task,
With bucket and bright feather-duster poised.
She pauses for a moment, half-bemused,
Her bird-like glance connecting with the scene,
And then moves on to make plain, practical
The task that each of us needs to begin.
Who has it "right"?
What we must do if we would be prepared?
Can I do anything but sit
Amid my heaped up ash and rubble?
Should I wait here,
Presuming Help will come,
Or can I go
And find a feather-duster,
Cheery and inappropriate
To shift the disappointments and the dreams?