Midweek Poem 6: Pieta

Pietà

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.

--Kevin Young, 2011