#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book

Mormoni

There were but 3 photos of my father,
1 of my mother’s parents,
yet numerous ones of me & Caitlin,
as if Mother’s life had started with us.

There was not a single picture of David in our house,
& there were times, when he wasn’t there,
I wondered if he existed at all.

David was 39,
I was 18–
he was a young soul,
a romantic idealist–
I, an old soul,
a romantic
who simply fell in love
with his idealism.

I, like the Holy Ghost the elders had spoken of,
had been David’s constant companion,
even as he had been my savior,
& Mother, his goddess.

If I wanted to be reunited
with them in the afterlife,
I would have to be baptized as well,
for where David went, I went.

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