lent

i don't go to church anymore
so on ash wednesday i wake up
to the priest hovering over me,
the glint of his thick glasses
his dry wrinkled hand raised,
thumb ready to make the sign 
of the cross on my forehead
i shoo him away, open the window
for him to fly out,
all his white feathers
blowing around the room
in the bathroom mirror
i notice the sign of the cross
is already there, black dust,
a small plus sign 
an addition problem started
on my skin 
as if everything next
to me is being added together
i think 
door + window
i think
sun + walls
i wash the cross off 
but it keep coming back
the birds perched outside sing
what are you giving up for lent?
what are you giving up for lent?
and i say 
nothing, leave me alone!
and i go about the rest of 
my day thinking of what
i should give up until easter
remembering all the years 
i gave up candy 
or ice cream
what did god do with all that
candy and ice cream?
i imagine him with his feet up,
eating a bowl of vanilla bean 
and watching his shows at night
in recent years my uncle 
has been giving up beer 
and open the windows of his house
to let the birds in
they peck at his canvases
and they eat his canned sardines
he says the birds help distract him
from wanting to drink
he paces his downstairs,
back and forth, counting how many
steps from one side of his house
to the other
if i did give something up
i would want it to be something
that would really get god's attention
something that would make god 
nestle in his arm chair 
and say
i want to watch
this human
until i find of something like that
i'll touch the chalky plus sign 
on my forehead
and think about what 
i should add to my body this lent
plus feathers
plus running faucet water
plus white lotion
plus bare feet
plus i want to like my hair
plus i want to like my skin
plus i want to like my fingers
counting each of them each morning
to remember what i am