You wave your magic hands
as if you can heal when you want to.
As if given the inclination, you could open
the coffin lid, and raise him up,
as soon as you said “Come forth.”
You say that you knew him, as if you remember
that one communion twenty seven years ago.
But you don’t need to know him. You have the notes.
You talked with mother, father, brother.
So when you say he’s “pitching” for us,
you expect us to smile
thinking, isn’t that just like him?
Some of them believe you. They buy your white robes
and your whitening hair. They admire the way you sprinkle water
and the verses you hand selected from condolences in your
holy official concordance.
But I don’t see him in your speech or in your verses,
I think it’s too late to baptize or anoint him.
The clearest fact, is that you didn’t know him, and
no one who did has influenced your notes.
Kind Father, Intercessor, Matchstick Man