Ash Wednesday

it is as if it is too shy
to want more attention—
smaller than you thought,
a smudge someone might mistake
as dirt from working in the garden,
or a playful mark from a child.
as you go through the day,
you might forget it is there
until you see someone’s eyes
turn soft as they notice,
the fast-food clerk pauses,
compassion touches you in
the simple silence of a stranger.
you see, ash remembers what
we think we can dismiss—
that in our ending is our beginning,
that even all the good we tried
to do will dissolve into dust.
ash also remembers the fire
of love, burning bright enough
so this trace can help us
to remember.as those ancient
words confront us once again:
we will return.
it is not a threat, but the promise
that nothing given in love
ever goes to waste
this day is not about shame,
but honesty marking our souls,
standing still just long enough
to admit that while fragile
we are beloved above all else.
it will disappear,
a quick mix of soap and water,
a soft cloth, and . . .
but the softer soul,
the silent heart
that whisper of love
reminds us of how dust
is always cradled
in the hands of grace.

© 2026 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman