GODLESSNESS

The first

     sunny day 

            after Easter

the neighbor boy

     rakes through

          the brambles 

with all the patience

     of a Catholic,

          steady strokes

cleansing their yard

     of stubborn oak leaves

          and winter trash,

the trumpet vine

     and lopped roses --

          dead wood 

and snow-burnt

     grass, all gathered

          in a circle

triumphantly set

     ablaze and smoldering

          toward heaven, 

the  yard now redeemed

     by this ceremony,

          by this sacrament

of smoke and ash.

     His sister brings

          a fistful of wieners

they impale 

     on barbecue forks

          and snack on, 

burst and

     sizzled flesh.

          My penance?

To observe this 

     carnal worship, 

          this Spring sweetness,

and beg forgiveness

     for my sons and I, 

          how we raked 

our hard scrabble 

     in haste, in haughty 

          anger, shouting 

at the wind, 

     cursing our lot, 

          the very life 

          

we were borne

     into, the punishment 

          of raking.