Pietà Print
By Kevin Young   
Tuesday, 11 March 2014

I hunted heaven 
for him.

No dice.

Too uppity, 
it was. Not enough

music, or dark dirt.

I begged the earth empty 
of him. Death

believes in us whether 
we believe

or not. For a long while 
I watch the sound

of a boy bouncing a ball 
down the block

take its time 
to reach me. Father,

find me when 
you want. I'll wait.

 

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