As a poet, and especially as a micro poet, I am often asked about the stories behind my words. I always hesitate to share that information, not because I think my story is unworthy of being told, but because I feel as though my story can reach more people when it’s kept abstract enough that others are able to internalize and apply my words to their own experiences. More recently though, I have felt the urge, perhaps even the calling, to share more about my experiences.
It started during the pandemic in 2020 during which time I began and briefly kept a blog titled (extra)ordinary days. I honestly don’t know if anyone ever read those posts, but writing them was very therapeutic for me.
Eventually, that time in our lives became part of our past, and the world seem to move on, or maybe even backwards, to the way things were before. But part of me was unable to let go to the pieces of ourselves that emerged during that time… pieces that were better than who we were before and are again today. I wanted to remind people of the epiphanies that we had, and remember the lessons I had learned myself. Then on a Sunday of a weekend that I had my two children with me, I looked at them and knew if I didn’t do it for myself I at least needed to do it for them, and for everyone else who might be in my position as a single parent just trying to carve out a place for themselves and their children in this world, and maybe, just maybe make a difference in the process.
These are the thoughts of a Sometimes Sunday Momma.
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