#Fiction Friday: #Novelines from the Book

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The hot chocolate that tasted like dirt wasn’t enough to steam away the winter chill that blew through the holes in our tights & openings in our scarves as we went a-caroling among the leaves so green.

We took the presence of a Nativity scene as an indication of a safe house, a friendly home, and we caroled our way through Christendom.

The glow from the tree gave the illusion of a gloriole, and it was to Mother’s light that the missionary angels were drawn.

Machines had kept my father alive, & I wondered if he was in purgatory, between 2 worlds, knowing if that machine malfunctioned, it would be the end of both his lives.

David’s allegiance to my mother hurt more than her deception; he was a beautiful accessory to her crime.

The Church admonished its members to be honest in all their dealings with their fellow man, & so I wondered about Abraham, lying about Sarah.

I had once believed in total autonomy—until I’d read the story of Pharaoh & how God had hardened His heart to bring about His purpose.

Removing Patrick from life support was in Mother’s best convenience, just as choosing not to abort Caitlin had been against hers.  Perhaps she’d seen forsaking her life in the servitude of motherhood as penance for destroying Patrick’s.

 

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Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #467: Expectation

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A Twentysomething’s Expectations, a Thirtysomething’s Reality

She’d thought she’d be married by 22;
she married at 31,
when a baby made her much more willing to take that leap.

She’d thought she’d have at least 3 kids;
she has one (so far),
sweeter than she could’ve ever imagined.

She’d thought she would’ve published her book by now;
only her short pieces have been published (and by other people),
which was even better.

She’d thought she would’ve finished school long before;
she is only a third of the way there because she liked it so much,
she wants to learn more.

She thought she would’ve been working as an editor by now,
but rather, she is writing and doing things she doesn’t know how to do
and is still learning to do.

Her expectations hadn’t been greater than her reality,
for what was real and not imagined
was better than any dream.

https://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-467

 

Micropoetry Monday: Opposites

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He took astronomy,
to understand the universe.
She took humanities,
to understand the world.

She filled cradles,
he, caskets.
She was young at heart,
he, an old soul.
They served their purposes,
with purpose,
if not on purpose,
for he’d inherited his father’s business,
& she,
a life of indentured surrogacy.

When Yankee ingenuity
met Southern hospitality,
they each felt superior—
the Reb,
with their manners,
& the Yank,
with their side having won
the war.

The Ten O’Clock Scholar

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She was Sarah Lea Richards,
the wife of Brian,
the mom of Hannah,
the daughter of Phil & Betty–
an accidental scholar,
a poet who read novels,
a poet who wrote short stories.

She was the blogger,
the humorist,
the bookmaker,
the pink-collar worker
in crimped hair & red lipstick–
a hot mess sometimes,
but never a cold dish.

She was a punster
who loved the Oxford comma,
the em dash,
& sometimes semicolons;
she was a wordsmith
who hated adverbs &
needless words,
but loved words like topsy-turvy &
helter-skelter–
just because they made her smile.

She was a mathematician when she had to be,
who, if ever in Rome,
would write in Roman numerals.
She was a poor person’s philosopher,
an even poorer person’s astronomer,
& the kind of statistician one would get
if they were being served by a public defender.

She was one of Jamey’s angels
who had yet to earn her wings.
She was the newspaper jefe,
whose sense of humor
sometimes rankled her adviser.

She was the Writing Lab tutor,
who knew that subjects & verbs
had disagreements,
but what about?
She was the boomerang child of Building 4,
the work-study gal
who made good.

She was a reliable narrator only
when on the beat,
but in the realm of fiction,
she was as unreliable as they came.

She was the family historian & documentarian,
for as everyone was the hero of their own story,
they were characters in hers.

She read people like books,
judging them not by their cover,
but by their content.

She was a woman of liberal arts &
conservative values.

She was a Health Info Tech major,
who saw it as a means to an end–
an end which would come in words,
rather than the alphanumerics
that comprised medical codes.

But such an endeavor,
so against her sense & sensibilities,
had not all been a waste,
for it had led her to here,
which would get her there–
even if there was still here.

#Fiction Friday: #Novelines from the Book

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The evangelicals believed Jesus changed hearts even as the Mormons believed the threat of being separated from their families forever changed behavior.

To be drenched in water that would imbue one with fire & the Holy Ghost, seemed the equivalent of firewater, & would produce the same result.

A relationship with Jesus was the foundation of Deep South Protestant Christianity; in Mormonism, it was the relationships with our families.

My gaze fell on a shiny silver ball, & it was as if I were gazing into a crystal ball—a seer stone—except I was seeing into the past.

What he was telling me now only confirmed what Caitlin had always felt & I had never wanted to believe.

My life had been a series of context clues, teeming with subtext, warning me, but I’d wanted to believe it was for love, not blood, that he stayed.

To tamper with the sacred powers of procreation outside of the marriage covenant was considered second only to murder, even if it ended in a birth.

One of the prophets had proclaimed any man could marry any woman & make the marriage work, excluding the passion St. Paul spoke of.

She wanted me to love any one of them as if they were interchangeable, & not fearfully & wonderfully made.

The idea of giving up total autonomy for eternal security seemed a small price to pay, but I could never serve a mission, for I was, unbeknownst to me, fulfilling another’s.

Micropoetry Monday: The Lighter Side

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Chaos & Control were 2 of a mother,
Chaos, preferring the surf side any day,
Control, poolside & the sound side
only on green flag days.
Control retained her hourglass figure,
whereas Chaos had been as shapely
as every fruit in the basket.

Sir Benedict was a good egg,
always on the sunny side,
though sometimes he got scrambled
when he came out of his shell.
He could also be hard-boiled when unwell,
when his chicken-hearted mother,
who was bit on the overly easy side
would coddle him,
basting him with soup–
courtesy of one of his relatives.

Mr. Ruffles was known for his candies—
his chocolaterie being a real jimdandy.
Yet he was pounded into mincemeat,
when he dipped the shroomy truffle sweets
into the magic that made him randy.