Pietà BY KEVIN YOUNG
September 18, 2011, 12:13 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized
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.

i don’t normally do this- but when you put together the last words in each stanza.. it’s kind of great!

him. dice. enough. dirt. Death. believe. sound. block. Father. wait. 

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