#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book

mormoni

Sound clips replaced conversation.
I could feel every speed bump
through the vibrations.
My vitals were being taken.
Peace had enveloped me like a haze.
I was cognizant,
feeling,
& for a second,
I knew my mother would hire
someone to care for my invalid self,
but David would take care of me himself.

David thanked God for the first time,
& it was because I had been spared.
I was not crippled or disfigured–
I was still me.

In the facility of secular healing,
I was given a blessing of
religious healing—
a blessing not medicinal,
but ministerial.

My love for my fellow Mormons
was like the morning & the evening star,
for I could not pinpoint when it had begun,
nor could I predict when it would end.
It was simply a beautiful intermezzo in my life.

For one night,
my family was as one.
For one night
in a lifetime of nights,
all the pieces that made up me,
fell into place,
& I was complete,
only to be broken in different places again
& each piece of me became smaller
& easier to lose.

Mother had 2 daughters,
but she wanted a son—
a son who would be her stripling warrior,
her soldier in God’s Army,
a Mormon legend that would reproduce
after his own kind.

She wanted a son who could go on a mission—
not a sacrifice who spoke in parables & proverbs,
but a trophy who proselytized & sanitized the gospel—
a trophy with an invisible plaque that said
“Best Mom Award.”

The night I could’ve died,
I felt the most alive,
until I heard Mother’s desire for a son
when her girls had always been enough.
I didn’t want her to have a baby with David–
not because that would cement him to her,
but because how could he possibly love a stepdaughter
more than he loved his own child?

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