we would fast on fridays in lent

& i believed the food we didn't eat 
was going elsewhere--
that god, in all his justice 
& all his mathematics
would harvest that uneaten food
& bring it to starving children somewhere.
i imagined him arriving 
with boxes of our frozen waffles &
peanut butter potato roll sandwiches.
the children would drink the nectar
of fruit cups & plastic dishes 
of mandarin oranges just like me,
getting the syrup down their arms.
they would believe in purple 
& doves just like me & maybe they too
kept saint cards on their windowsills. 
maybe they waited 
for lent like i waited for christmas.
maybe he delivered the feasts 
by stacking our food on the doorstep 
or maybe he left them on the kitchen table
where the families could easily reach them.
i lined little baggies of candies from the market
up on my bookshelf-- peach rings,
spearmint leaves, & red licorice--
determined to let god take them.
he would walk in at dusk with his 
white robes & tell me how wonderful
a child i was for giving up all these treats.
he'd go place sugar on the tongues 
of the starving children, one bite for
each of them. the starving children would come 
to know me & travel from all directions to
sit on the floor of my room.
we would play tea party where i'd 
feed them tasty cakes from the pantry 
& i'd just drink invisible earl grey
& eat invisible finger sandwiches. 
the starving children slept all in piles there 
so i told them to climb into bed with me
& we were so warm all together.
i told them i was sorry that lent didn't last
all year & that i would try to eat less for them.
they forgave me & in the morning when i woke up
they were all gone--
the stories we make up
to absolve ourselves of our earliest guilt.
why was i born in a warm house 
on a farmhouse road where the only sound
at night is that of a freight train in the distance?
more bags of candy on the book shelf.
a bowl of pennies for the collection at church-- 
priest in purple robes 
a dove eating licorice