Steven Schroeder | Lenten meditation
Exposed by a week of thaw
as furious as the two of snow
that preceded it, the rotting
carcass of a possum I
step over on Cornell Avenue
as traffic rushes by
more furious than either
turns my mind to Lent
and how there is no need
to leave the city for forty days
of temptation in the wilderness.
No one bothers to wait
in a high place to say
this could all be mine
if only I would get down
on my knees, because they
know every passerby
has heard it all before
and shrugged it off without
a second thought, not even tempted.
Anyone who wants it all
has been hunkered down
in the highest place they could
get their hands on for a long time
while every other one has been
on their knees just as long
with something else
on their mind.
Other than the sun, the brightest things
on this walk are Yoko’s lotus
on the far side of winter
trees that are a memory
of what this place was
when it was still
unsettled and
the cardinals
singing spring as if
they believe it is at hand.
An hour of walking and
the first person to speak is
a homeless guy who
has been on this street
as long as I can remember.
He always waits
until I have nodded
the ritual greeting that is
in the rubrics for this occasion
and walked on by to say
I’d be grateful for a helping hand today
and there is nothing to say
but amen
and amen again.
Chicago
1 March 2021
