Pieta

 

You wouldn't let me hold you
"Stand across the room," you cried
Your dark eyes veiled
Your body twisting towards the wall

 

Each day I stretched out my arms
But they could not hold
Your fury

The boundless grief of your dying

You slipped through my fingers
Into pain

The blackness of coma
Into the flames

 

In a remote town

In a dim, silent house

A row of labeled boxes stood

On a gleaming table

I picked up yours

You weighed now

What you weighed at birth

 

Since you've died

I've been thinking of Michael Angelo's Pieta

Mary in stark white marble

Her strong legs angling into her straight back

To make a broad lap

But not copious enough

For the body of her son