Ash Wednesday Poem

Ashes -
by Anne Weems

Two nights ago I knelt and
   
took the ashes from the fireplace.

It was some time before I saw evidence
   
of the smudge of ash upon my face.
I washed it quickly away.

Last night I knelt and took the bread
   
and dipped it in the cup,
and then I felt the cool smooth
   
finger of ash upon my forehead,

ashes from last year's palms
   
saved for this holy time.

I wondered if there might still be
   
some remnant of Hosanna!

lingering in the ashes.

All evening long I wore the ash,
   
that holy ash,

and when others saw the smudge,
   
I wondered if they were inclined
to wipe it clean
   
or to lean closer
in the hope of hearing
   
some soft Hosanna!

burning still
   
in ash

or heart . . .