Poem-a-Day November 2018 Writer’s Digest Challenge #29. Theme: Remix


From Within

God was there between them,
holding both their shaky hands.
Crumbling was that faith
that marriage was forever,
but when they looked at one another,
seeing one another the way they did,
they saw from their reflections
in the windows of their souls
that God was the fulcrum,
and she, the power suit in her marriage
and he,
in his birthday suit,
was a kept man.
But for this practice of self-reflection,
of seeing themselves obstructed in the beam
they saw in one another’s eyes,
they also saw that he needed her
as much as she wanted him.

*For this poem, I used every word from this one: https://sarahleastories.com/2018/11/28/poem-a-day-november-2018-writers-digest-challenge-27-theme-sturdy-shaky/




Poem-a-Day November 2018 Writer’s Digest Challenge #27. Theme: Sturdy/Shaky


The Bride of Christ, the Groom of God

Shaky was her marriage,
but sturdy was the faith
that kept her marriage from crumbling,
for when they looked at one another,
holding both hands,
God was there between them,
and they saw one another the way He did.


Poem-a-Day November 2018 Writer’s Digest Challenge #25. Theme: Use line from earlier poem


She Left Them Puzzled

“For he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.” (Matthew 5:45)

*She was a 1000-piece puzzle who,
when put together,
always revealed something new.
Whenever she was taken apart,
something new grew between the cracks,
expanding her like the universe—
sometimes it was weeds,
at others,
but the same rain
nourished them both.

*indicates a line used in a previous poem


Poem-a-Day November 2018 Writer’s Digest Challenge #22. Theme: Praise


S(he) Sees the World

She praised God for all the good
and cursed the Devil for all the bad—
seeing everything that happened
through the prism of intervention
by an unseen entity,
for it was the only way
she could make sense of the world.

He praised no one and cursed nothing,
seeing everything that happened
as the result of cosmic chaos—
set in motion by a God who had left
Earth’s inhabitants to their own devices,
for it was the only way
he could make sense of the world.


Poem-a-Day November 2018 Writer’s Digest Challenge #21. Theme: Protest


The Accidental Environmentalist

Mrs. Gladys Georgana Green lived in the poor house—
just under the poverty line.
She wore her shoes till they lost their soles,
her hand-me-down clothes till they became careworn,
after which she would tear them into strips
for the rag rugs that scattered her floors.
Her margarine tubs were repurposed as Tupperware
and often filled with potato cookies at Christmastime
for the less-fortunate children.
All her furniture had come to her secondhand,
sometimes even thirdhand,
and she was grateful to get it from those who had
cared for their property so well.
Her electronics were outdated,
and her desktop computer was a dinosaur near extinction,
but they worked well enough to suit her needs.
She was not a minimalist by choice—
she’d never been privileged enough to make that choice,
for it had always been made for her.
Yet this frugal way of living had become a part of her,
for she saw the wisdom in making things last.

On Thanksgiving Day,
when she was minding her own damn business,
enjoying her weekly indulgence of Salisbury steak,
and her holiday slice of pumpkin pie that had her name on it
(in whipped cream, no less),
some whippersnapper in a Greenpeace shirt
started filming this “cow killer”
with his brand-new iPhone.

Being more going-of-age than coming-of-age,
she’d had enough of these people and their hypocritical crapola,
and so, with a spry little sprint,
she confronted this little mockumentary maker,
this propagandist punk,
and rammed her paper straw where it never meant to go.


Poem-a-Day November 2018 Writer’s Digest Challenge #11. Theme: Forgiveness

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The Last Willful Act and Final Testament of Mary Alice McCann

When she forgave her husband for his pornography addiction,
it continued to happen.
When she forgave her husband for his corporal punishment,
it continued to happen.
When she forgave her husband for showing their daughter
what to look for in a husband,
their son,
how to treat a woman,
the abuse continued to happen,
for she saw bearing under immense suffering as glorifying God.
After her husband’s temper finally got the best of her,
she realized that forgiveness never meant that she had to stay;
her God had died for her,
but she had,
in a sense,
died for Him.


#Fiction Friday: #Novelines from the Book


A playground was spooky at night. The ponies on springs looked baleful & clown-like, the spiral slide menacing as it loomed like a large serpent.

When I woke to 5 faces peering over me, I wondered if they were there to plead my case before the judge whose authority I did not recognize.

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

What was unconditional love, but the ability to love someone for all their flaws & sins, committed against everyone but themselves?

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

Mother spoke differently, saying things like “Bless you,” rather than “Thank you,” but Mormons never went around saying, “Jesus loves you.”

Out of love for me, my family had been brought together, & out of love for my mother, the Church had come for me.

When I heard David thank God, I saw it not only as an act of gratitude, but an act of humility. My mother had brought God into the house, made Him comfortable there.

The happiest days of my life were those that led up to the Christmas of nineteen-hundred-&-ninety-nine.