The Dead Mother and Grieving Son Spiritual
by Rick Bursky
God didn’t invent mercy and is the last one
To lecture on kindness.
Eventually, everything changes
And we’re shellacked with grief.
In the meantime, just like every other
Wannabe god I’m collecting urns filled
With the burnt, young skeletons, battered
Souls, shoelaces of the rich and famous,
I even have a coffee spoon said to have
Belonged to François Duvalier.
Of course, while I collect, God invents:
A burning bush, flooding, poetry (I’m grateful),
And golems for entertainment.
I’m done praying, never got me anywhere.
God said, “let there be light.”
I’d have said, “let there be mercy.”
There’s nothing new about dying
But people continue to do it anyway.
To lecture on kindness.
Eventually, everything changes
And we’re shellacked with grief.
In the meantime, just like every other
Wannabe god I’m collecting urns filled
With the burnt, young skeletons, battered
Souls, shoelaces of the rich and famous,
I even have a coffee spoon said to have
Belonged to François Duvalier.
Of course, while I collect, God invents:
A burning bush, flooding, poetry (I’m grateful),
And golems for entertainment.
I’m done praying, never got me anywhere.
God said, “let there be light.”
I’d have said, “let there be mercy.”
There’s nothing new about dying
But people continue to do it anyway.
Rick Bursky
Rick Bursky teaches poetry for The Writer’s Program at UCLA Extension. He has published full-length poetry collections with Sarabande Books and BOA Editions. His most recent book is Let’s Become a Ghost Story, from BOA.