Good Friday Fast

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Good Friday Fast

             10 April 2020, 5:32pm

Now less than 30 till the predetermined
termination of an antiquated practice far
more potent than the lurking scent 

of her lasagna in the oven. It’s more 
a cripple’s hope of realignment, really, 
this driving impetus to self-deprive— 

a sort of scheduled emptying of all 
the sludge around the corners of 
the tank. Ours are fickle ones, 

these hollow spaces underneath the ribs. 
I painted the downstairs bathroom, 
rode my creaky bicycle around 

the neighborhood, and prayed, of course,
and yet in full transparency I have to say 
I didn’t taste the rising sap of holiness

I hoped to find. No, the only thing I know
I felt is emptiness, a hollow yearning far
more urgent than anticipated as I sit

to watch the oven door—a visceral desire
for that culmination long awaited, when, at last,
the oven will be cracked,
pulled open as a tomb.

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