Fiction Friday: Micropoetry from the Book

Mother lived in the past,
I lived for the future,
& Caitlin lived in the present.
So we lived,
disconnected from one another.

My father’s influence had been stronger
in death than it had ever been in life.
His existence had left barely a ripple,
his lack of, infinite.

David was fire to Mother’s ice;
he was the warm brick
surrounding a winter night’s fire,
she, the cold marble,
framing the ashes of yesteryear

All I had were snatches of memories—
like a silent film or radio program—
incomplete, with nothing harmonizing
to give me the fullness of him.

The past was solid, the future, fluid.
We stood in the precious present,
for it was always being stolen by the past,
pushed into the future.

Logline for Because of Mindy Wiley An Irish-Catholic girl coming of age in the Deep South during the New Millennium finds her family splintered when two Mormon missionaries come to her door, their presence and promise unearthing long-buried family secrets, which lead to her excommunication and exile.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s