Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday is the beginning the fast, the day of the liturgical year that is to remind us of our own mortality. I watch the priest as he presses his thumb into the bowl of ashes and then hear him say “Dust thou art to dust returneth” or “Return to the Word” as ashes fall before my eyes, like my funeral veil. At once I am shielded from having to show my face, and allowed to wear my grief with grace. I can see that now. My entry on Ash Wednesday last year mentions my plans to return soon to mother Anne’s bedside before her hour of death.

This day also reminds me of the significance of setting limits, of willingly abstaining from things I think I cannot do without. We succumb to temptation so much more easily when and where barriers are invisible. This day reminds me of the unseen black veil and unheard water falling, before the opening behind which I stand.

…All this and more
remains
 to be seen
in the sound 
of silence
at all the checkpoints

between the pauses 

between the Acts
before passing
all old stations
of the Ubahn.

Listen carefully
nowhere any longer
wall or ashes falling
before our eyes

to let me see
what remains
for who am I
otherwise?

Berlin, February 1993