Talking to God
She doesn’t talk to God anymore,
when she asked him for a kind loving man
he gave her a cruel one,
When she asked him for strength and patience
he gave her none.
And yet her heart still melts at the sight of the full glorious moon;
every time, the first time
the shadowy lantern that spun
playfully, arrogantly hid and revealed its faded smile
how it rose every night
be it full or a sharp crooked dagger
as if it had reason.
And God is in everything she was taught as a child
in the sound of angry rain falling on house roofs
in the graceful unfolding of a young green tea leaf .
She wants to love him again,
to strike a bargain with him
“God, if you grant me this, only this, I will try again”
but she knows in her heart of hearts
that God doesn’t work that way.
Pink Post-it Notes
Everywhere in her house
there are pink and orange post it notes
hanging on door, mirrors and walls
there’s even one on her bedroom ceiling that read
“pay your child’s dinner money!”
beside it, a badly drawn picture of a dry water tap;
a reminder to pay the water bill.
Everywhere, neon pink notes to help her tired brain function
and yet,
nothing distracts this overworked brain from the murmur of his voice.
