By Michelle Talsma Everson, 2020/21
It’s nearly 2 a.m. so it’s quiet
The sleepy breathing of my son a few feet from me,
I type furiously; A smile I can’t escape.
This. This is why we fell in love.
Of telling a story that I’m passionate about.
My love projects I call them;
Few and far in between.
Most stories pay the bills,
Ones like this feed my soul.
7 years old winning an award for a poem about a snowflake
A sophomore in high school writing about careers in journalism
On the college newspaper before I was in a class
Writing an op/ed piece at 19 about being a SAHM/writer
Keeping my maiden name because I was first published under it, dammit!
You were my first real love.
You held me close through trials and joys both.
Then, when I held my heart outside of my body, you allowed me to make a living while holding him close.
I am eternally grateful.
There’s been times I’ve begrudged you.
Being a writer feels like having eternal homework;
Procrastination my biggest enemy,
My mind never being able to shut off.
I wanted to leave you behind,
But still, I always came back to you.
There’s a bit of ego, a bit of pride, but mostly gratitude to God for this gift and this journey.
I see the world in stories
And you allow me to tell those stories to others.
I am so grateful for you as I struggle with a sense of self;
You help me to find my center
As another chapter of my life unfolds.