Fiction Friday: Micropoetry from the Book

Mrs. Hobson was a warm country kitchen
with strawberry rhubarb pies baking,
Mother, a slate gray living room,
minimalist in decor.

When I grieved not for the loss of the man,
but for the future I could’ve had with that man,
I knew my heart was healing.

Even as a prostitute’s currency was her sexual prowess,
my currency in the Mormon Church was my virginity—
a pearl of great price.

Because one had to be married to enter Heaven,
husbands & wives became one another’s saviors—
the gods & goddesses of their own worlds.

I had fought God’s fire with passion,
& lost,
but I hadn’t lost everything,
for David loved me more than God,
more than his own soul.

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