open palms

a poem

For lent I'll give up my precautions,
peel off any padding,
burn the mattress,
and suck my pillows dry.

At first
the floor will feel cold and cruel
beneath my head,
but as my spine will flatten out,
the dust will settle over
my palms, receiving
God, the sun.

I will chant myself to sleep;
knowing I willingly laid here to rest
will surely, somehow,
make my bones ache less.

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