by Elizabeth Bristol

I ramble on
when I talk to God
until a question falls out.

Neither of us,
God nor I,
realize it’s rhetorical
until He takes a breath
to begin His reply.

I remember the man by the pool of Bethesda
perched on the edge
waiting to be the first to get in
when the angel
stirs the water
so he will be healed.

As he sits and waits,
Jesus comes and asks,
“Do You wish to be well?”

And, I wonder
I don’t want to hear
the answer
to my question
just yet.