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.

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 )

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