I like to talk to Jesus when I chain smoke.
Tell him what’s working and what isn’t.
Ask him if the things I’m doing are right.
(I think by simply asking I’m confirming they aren’t)
The daylight never really feels like prayer light
And I get honest on the back porch under the moon.
So I talk and he listens and I listen but he’s silent.
I’m still learning his language. I think its carried by lunar beams and crickets and the gentle wind.
Sometimes I wonder, if he was standing next to me
As I pulled another cigarette from the pack
Would he take it from my hands
Or quietly offer me a light?
Andrew Coons is a poet living in Savage, MN and the author of Sin Eater: poems on loss, love, depression, and fatherhood. You can read more of his work at www.andrewcoons.com and on Instagram (@andrewcoonswriting).