#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book

mormoni

David was my watchdog,
for beware,
he’d always said,
to churches asking for money—
that filthy lucre—
to these tax-exempt businesses
that were more interested
in saving one’s soul
than one’s life,
in praying for you,
thus passing the buck to God,
rather than doing something to help you
themselves.

For the answer to the prayers
of many Mormons
were different than the answer
to mine,
so who was to say that this person
or that person
was praying in the wrong spirit?
For my answer had come in a dream,
not from a feeling.

I became a checklist Mormon,
for it was more important what we did,
rather than what we believed—
just as our salvation was more about
what we could do,
than what He did.

Mother had been as Jacob,
David, Leah,
for he’d come unto my mother
masquerading
as her beloved Patrick,
& lay with her.
But David did not labor 7 years
for her;
he’d simply waited.

I saw the Bible as truth
through allegories.
I didn’t see Adam & Eve
so much as real,
but as representations
of every kind of
humankind.

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