Holy Places

My grandmother talked to God
like an old friend. She told him
what happened that day, who
needed help and how her varicose
veins throbbed. She excused God
when he didn't show up to help.
Sometimes she took out a prayer book,
started to read a prayer and then
stopped and began her dialogue
with God. I am more formal, picking
a time and place for prayer. I begin
with a salutation and end with a set
phrase. My grandmother released
her prayers whenever the spirit moved--
in the morning when she put on
her corset, in the kitchen plucking
chicken feathers, while crocheting
a tablecloth, or before going to sleep.
"God, " she told me, " listens.
You just can't hurry him."