#Fiction Friday: #Novelines from the Book

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My mother had lost her virginity & heart to David; I would lose only one of these to him.

Mother saw emotional self-flagellation as a form of atonement for adultery, but she’d only denied David marriage, not sex.

Like David, the great king, he had taken a woman who had belonged to another, except that David, according to Mormon doctrine, had been barred from the celestial kingdom forever.

David Dalton, like that same David who had slain Goliath in his youth, had been responsible for my father’s death?

My intake of breath was acute, as if the sharpness in Mother’s words had floated upwards & entered me, cutting me up inside, so that I bled.

I prayed not for God’s forgiveness, but for my father’s, for wishing he hadn’t been mine.  Had I been David’s, Mother would’ve loved me as a mother should, for I was the ball & Caitlin, the chain.

My disappointment overshadowed the love I had for them, & it ate at me—not the disappointment itself, but that I allowed my disappointment to be so great. 

A CTR (or “Choose the Right”) ring in the Mormon Church was akin to the “True Love Waits” rings the Protestants wore.  Both were centered on remaining pure before marriage & would no longer be worn after marriage, for it was assumed that as long as people got sex, even if it was only with one person their entire lives, they would be pacified.

The revelations in the yard hadn’t just told me I had lost my mother, but that the mother I loved & admired hadn’t existed at all.

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Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #483: Name

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Only Weirdos Eat Ketchup on a Hot Dog & Other Hot-Doggy Things

Nearly everyone calls them hot dogs,
whereas pretentious adults call them frankfurters
& big sillies call them wieners,
but whatever you choose to call them
(or cover them up with),
they are still a “food-like substance”
that vegans try to replicate with their grody soy.
As for me,
the only hot dog I’ll take is the exclamation kind
because the noun is just too hard to swallow.

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 483

#Micropoetry Monday: Opposites

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He was Shakespeare,
she, greeting cards.
She saw in him,
a man who took himself too seriously,
even as he saw her as a woman
who didn’t take herself seriously enough.
He exposed her to words
that meant something,
even as she exposed him to words
that had once meant something
to someone
on their best days &
on their worst days.

He wrote love stories,
she, romance novels.
Each believed the other
to be inferior—
hers in literary merit,
his in marketplace value,
though they both practiced
self-love
by doing what they loved.

She was finishing school,
he, vocational.
She made rumors people used
for the detriment
of their peers,
whereas he made things people could use
for the benefit of them.
When she decided she wanted
to “go slumming”
by trying someone new,
he told her that he only knew how
to work with wood,
not stone.

#Fiction Friday: #Novelines from the Book

mormoni

We were in our own little world—a world in which Mother did not fit.  Even as she & David belonged together, so did David & I, in our own way, in a way the 3 of us together never could.

Empowerment was allowing myself to believe in something I could not see, & yet, to believe in something greater than ourselves was to be under their rule.

I was not called, but given a calling.  I was to work for the Church for free, & pay them on top of that for the opportunity to do so. 

Mormons assigned callings, & I realized how many tentacles they had—through 3-hour church services, Enrichment meetings, Visiting Teaching, Institute, & now, a job in the Church.

I knew then that he didn’t believe the Church was true—he loved a lie because it was a beautiful lie—a lie that gave him power over those who were true believers.

I bore false witness that the Church was true, & prayed for God to have mercy on my soul if I was right.

There was something creepy about a grown man asking me if I’d been obeying the law of chastity, for what happened between a man & a woman in the bedroom was between them, & no one else but the God who had made them.

God had called me to serve in the nursery, something I knew nothing about.  Just as He’d called Noah to build the Ark.  Yet how easy it was to say that “God said.”

I didn’t question.  I knew better than that, for as it was said, so it was believed:  When our leaders speak, the thinking has been done.

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #482: Brief

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Dad’s Briefcase

Like Mama’s purse,
for Lyle & Lyla Ledbetter,
Dad’s briefcase contained all the secrets of adulthood:
the bundles of bills he called “Monopoly money,”
the dice without dots he called “sugar cubes for the mules,”
& the little bottles that looked like perfume samples–
“the stuff dreams were made of.”
For children,
life was not seeing
but rather,
not understanding what they were seeing.

https://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/wednesday-poetry-prompts-482

 

#Micropoetry Monday: The Lighter Side

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Orange hated being compared with Apple,
as he was quite pithy & had a zest for life,
whereas Apple,
although not without a peel,
didn’t know the difference
between a screwdriver & a mimosa.

He was forgiven for his culinary sins—
squirting ketchup on hot dogs
& spooning sugar in his grits—
when he made the cruelty-free,
gluten-free,
& flavor-free brownies that,
nevertheless,
put them all in a good humor.

Deciding to peel off some pounds,
Apple, Banana, & Pear Shapely
went to the gym,
only to have Hourglass
give them several karate chops &
pour them into smoothies.

#Micropoetry Monday: Dream in Chocolate When You’re Feeling Blue

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Bryan Dark & Sara White
had always been at odds—
Mr. Dark claiming antioxidant powers &
that Miss White wasn’t real chocolate.
When they came together—
she, as a coating
& he, a filling,
they realized that although they were different,
they were also equal.

He called them chocolate balls,
she called them truffles.
He said she was too fancy,
she said he was too plain,
but when their child called them bonbons,
they realized that no matter what you called them,
by any other name,
they tasted the same
(but always just a little better dark).

He was all kinds of eye candy—
this hunk of white chocolate with
a soft center that melted her heart.
She never got to unwrap this temptation
in the shiny peppermint paper,
so she satisfied her cravings
by noshing on the darkest nougat—
an activity that packed on the calories
rather than burned them.