by Brian C. Billings
Cuaresma brings fasting, but time
does not go fast for me. Instead,
my routines drag along. I dread
Friday’s bowl of fish. I know I’m
supposed to sacrifice. I mime
penance, but all of my thoughts rest on steak. My stomach rolls, distressed. I pray, and I am so sincere because I fear that Christ can hear the flesh that fails to meet His test.