we prefer our pietàs to be of stone:

stone doesn’t weep or curse us
doesn’t scream
we marvel at the
static and unmoving
beauty of its carving
gasp at the detail of the folds
of the mother’s robes
stare in wonder at her stately grief

we don’t hear the mother
over her dead son
murdered by the state for
the crime of existing

we don’t cry for these pietàs,
why should we?

they are but stone –
in the reverent silence of our museums
we mercifully cannot hear
the thousand and more
living pietàs
we create every single day

NationalPoetryMonth Day 5