#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book

mormoni

For I learned of Mother’s life
by traveling backwards in time,
& with each trip,
the chasm between us grew wider,
so that she seemed so far removed from me.

Because Mother had been told her future,
her present had shaped it to fit the prediction—
the one that would put her at enmity with her daughter.

Their heaven was better than Baptist heaven,
their marriage, better than Methodist marriage,
for lovemaking did not end with earthly bodies,
but surpassed the thunder in the sky.

At the early morning hour,
Mother separated herself from her husband
by separating him from his life;
at the early evening hour,
she would civilly marry another man,
a man to whom she would be sealed celestially.

David had loved Mother for longer
than my father had known her,
honored her wishes by voicing not his own,
& cherished her as he cherished those
who came from her.

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Poem-a-Day April 2019 Writer’s Digest Challenge #19. Theme: License #aprpad

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Driving is a Privilege

A license to drive
was a license to operate a weapon
that could be more dangerous than a gun,
for a gun ran out of bullets a lot sooner
than a car ran out of gas.

2019 April PAD Challenge: Day 19

Poem-a-Day April 2019 Writer’s Digest Challenge #7. Theme: Jealousy #aprpad

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Jenvy

When Jealousy met Envy,
she met her match.
This two-headed, green-eyed monster
grew more luminous
when they learned that it was “Jenvy”
that brought about the first murder
on Earth,
which made them one of the 7 deadly sins.

But when they met Admiration,
that entity was the sword that slayed the dragon,
for a brother who was inspired
by another brother’s success
would become greater himself
than a brother who simply seethed
with Jenvy.

https://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2019-april-pad-challenge-day-

#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book

mormoni

For she’d become the Grim Reaper,
the Angel of Death.
She was the devil in disguise,
beguiling in her beauty,
the ashes of which had tainted
everything.

For David would do my father’s work in the temple,
becoming Patrick’s savior by proxy.
My godlike David would giveth Patrick the key to heaven,
even as he taketh the key to my mother’s heart.

David was my guardian angel,
a mortal who had appointed himself
to watch over me,
to exemplify the love Christ had for His children,
to shield from me the lack of maternal love.

The Mormon temple was tainted now,
for blood poured from its doors—
the lifeblood from the man who had sired me.
It seeped into every piece of fabric,
splattered on every wall
like a crime scene
that could never be washed away.

David had sinned in the name of my mother,
& so I turned Mother into a Christ of convenience,
placing his sins on her,
so that he stood blameless before me.

#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book

mormoni

While Caitlin had gone to my father’s grave
to pay respects to a dead man,
Mother & I had gone to Church
to pay respects to the dead
Son of God.

Even as David had kept secrets from my mother,
he had kept secrets from me,
yet there wasn’t one secret either of us kept from him.

Machines had kept my father’s body alive,
his soul hovering in Purgatory,
while Mother & David had enjoyed heaven
through adultery.

Mother was as Goddess,
for she had taken us to an empty grave,
only to resurrect my father from the dead
with a few words.

Had David allowed my father to die,
he could’ve loved my mother without sin.
For her,
he had risked his eternal life,
even, in her own way,
she had considered herself
above God’s law.

#Fiction Friday: #Micropoetry from the Book

mormoni

For I was told that I had loved the man who had given me life,
even as I loathed the woman who had helped him do it.
Catholicism had saved me in my unborn state,
& for that, I would be indebted to it forever.

My earliest memories
had been recorded on a machine
that was still rapidly developing,
so that they were subject
to tampering,
to being recorded over—
like a double exposure.

I trusted David with my heart & life & body
as surely as I trusted God,
whoever He was,
with my soul.

When I’d thought my father dead,
I’d hated him;
when I found him alive,
I loved him,
if for no other reason
than that I had been told I had,
indeed,
once loved him.

I’d visited an empty grave,
when I could’ve been visiting a living person.
Rather than stroll through the valley of the shadow
of another’s death,
I could’ve been living in the light
that was my life.