God, I talk to you. Aloud,
hopefully when I’m alone
or praying in public.
But I talk to you. And it’s not
that you don’t talk to me.
I remember when you did,
August, 1969. Pretty clear…
I knew, because it wasn’t
the answer I would have chosen.
Sure, there have been other times.
But I wasn’t sure you were talking.
I just reasoned them out,
found the best course, decided
to take it…and sometimes I did.
Do you remember that time
when Daddy and his cousin talked?
Nineteen ninety-one. I thought
after that maybe I could heal
like my great grandfather could.
I asked you, tried it, figured
I tried it, you didn’t give it…
You didn’t answer.
God, why don’t you ever talk
to me?