Sweet Little Nothings

Start a game of tag with your friends

Jill, Kelly, & Sabrina—
Charlie’s braless angels &
Bosley’s femme fatales—
found themselves 40 years in the future,
where they were doubly appreciated,
for everything old had become new again.
When each lady spotted the man they believed
to be the enigmatic Charlie,
they scattered to follow him,
tagging themselves on Facebook
to find one another again.
When they reconnected,
they found not the time machine
that had brought them there,
but saw,
in themselves,
the time capsule they were.

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#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book

Mormoni

I asked my dead father,
who lived I knew not where,
to forgive me,
even as I’d never asked for David’s,
for not once had I ever sinned against him.

My pain was swallowed up in the light of his presence,
the sting of the death of Mother’s memory, gone—
all because of the light of his love.

I’d seen what I’d been allowed to see,
heard what I’d been allowed to hear.
The artist in David had painted a pretty picture,
the pianist, in Mother,
this score that had underscored the strange play
that was my life—
a life that had been a Hallmark greeting card,
personalized in cursive,
tea-stained at the edges,
protected in a pretty envelope.

The Protestants had “True Love Waits” rings,
the Mormons, CTR, for “Choose the Right.”
They were purity rings, & nothing more.

Purity rings & purity balls,
with chastity placed on a girl’s
uncovered shoulders.
Orgasms were something mysterious—
something experienced,
often by the inexperienced.

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #457: Disobedient

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No Voice But Her Own

Because she would not listen,
she did not learn.
Because she would not read what others had done,
she did not know how to do it.
Because she fancied herself a maverick a la Hemingway,
she could not see that she could become better.
Because she did not know the rules,
she did not know how or when to break them.
Because she wanted to tell her story,
she did not tell their stories.

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-456

#Fiction Friday: #Novelines from the Book

Mormoni

I became somewhat of a Pollyanna during the heyday of my Mormon experience. I didn’t look around, but straight ahead—to the end I had to endure to.

The notion of a Church family was like a second cousin, thrice removed. It was unfamiliar & wonderful. It wasn’t obtained through blood or marriage, but through adoption.

Their highest level of heaven was about being reunited with their families, & I thought how many holes there would be in that happy place.

Here I was, not ready to grow up all the way quite yet, & Caitlin, in her own way, was growing up too fast.

Tony may have been a sex maniac, marrying Kath to relieve his urge to have sinless sex, but he was a better man than Elder Roberts, for he was marrying the one he loved.

The Coveys had more kids than the Von Trapps, & I thought how larger numbers seemed to breed informality.

My friend Brad saw in me then, what I did not see in myself—the love I had for my stepfather that went beyond fatherly.

The Fosters—the owners of the diner David & I had secretly dined in—had been the aunt & uncle who’d raised him, the foster parents who’d never approved of Mother.

Beth & Gerald had loved me as if I were David’s very own. If only I’d known, I would’ve loved them more while they were alive than after they died.

It was incongruous that David grew up on a farm in rural Pennsylvania, only to become the epitome of urbanity in a township in Green Haven, Florida.

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #456: Tragic

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Losing Sam

No one ever died in the South—
they simply passed away.
Her son hadn’t been killed,
but rather,
she had lost him in an accident.
When she wished him away from Heaven
and back to Earth,
it was only hope she experienced—
the hem of his coat as he went out the door,
the sound of his footsteps in the hall after a night out,
the smell of Axe that lingered in his bedroom.
In every sense but the physical,
he was there,
but the tragedy was that his memory
lived on in the form of a shadow
in which her daughter lived.

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-456

Sweet Little Nothings

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From “Bullwinkle and Friends,”
she’d learned that chocolate pan dowdy could be hazardous to her health.
From “The Flintstones,”
she’d learned that a minimalist wardrobe was living like a cavegirl.
From “Looney Tunes,”

she’d learned to stay away from Acme trucks.
She’d learned a lot of useless things,
but from it all,
she’d learned that adults with imagination
had made her Saturday mornings brighter.