Fiction Friday: Micropoetry from the Book

From Annie McCarrick to Laurie Nolan,
my mother had redefined herself,
though I had to wonder–
was the redefinition a stripping off
of a mask,
or was it an unveiling?

David had freed Mother from the music
her fingers had made,
& had passed that which she had loathed
to the daughter who danced to it.

The genesis of my life:
My fifth year–
when David came.
The exodus–
the year the elders came.
The revelation–
when I came the first time.

As a Catholic,
God was my Father,
& that was enough.
As a Mormon,
I began to wonder about
my earthly father,
the concept of a
Heavenly Mother
strange & wonderful
to me.

David was Welsh,
without a pinch of Irish in him;
I was an Irish trio—
Northern, Scots, & Black;
but Caitlin?
She was Jaunty O’ St. Mick.

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