Voices

I've started to talk to God at night; around two or three in the morning when no one is around but Him and Me. In those silent spaces when I can hear him, when everyone else has shut up, and that includes me, we talk of small things. A book I've read. The day I've had. The larger questions are best left 'til morning. Sometimes, I forget myself, I gritch and moan, gripe and snipe, and the room softly stills. I remember the blackness of my pot and I say that I'm sorry. It's not much, but it's all I've got. Tonight I tell Him I went to mass. It was good to be there, I say. The father said, you're almost welcome. My heart sank. And then I heard the pause. You're all most welcome. I can almost hear Him laughing.