Why I Talk to God

How strange I

Thought at five. That

My knees didn’t throb

Before bed from never

Kneeling, hands clasped

Beneath my nose

 

How odd I must be.

Unfamiliar with sweet,

Small, common phrases

 

When I was 10

My imaginary friend died

Car accident

 

When I was 12 there was

A miracle

In a boy’s laugh

 

I was 13 when my mother

Glassy eyes

Slung my grandfather’s cross

Around my neck

It stung

 

I prayed with a woman in a

Bathroom stall

Tears leaking into toilet water

 

My religion

Rang numbly over tile

 

The noose still round my

Swollen claw

I write

 

And hope

 

That none will bother answer