#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book


Temple Square was where the flowers
of the future of Mormonism
were planted for 18 months,
their wombs ready,
their spirits readying.

Little boys played Hangman on the backs of Church programs,
little girls drew hearts & flowers & sunshiny things,
but I drew my last straw.

Mormon parents taught their children,
even as I had been allowed to learn.
They fed them testimonies like
I had been fed the humanities.

They all believed they knew,
but I knew what I didn’t know.
I knew them,
but they didn’t know me.
Their books were open,
my mind was closed.

To bear my testimony
would be to bear false witness;
to covet Elder Roberts
would be to covet another woman’s
future husband.

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