In my story, I will tell you: I am childless, divorced, pansexual, low-income. Endure
chronic disease: Thyroid, parathyroid, fibroids, osteoporosis, most recently, Meniere’s disease.
This is a story.
Oh yes, I am a recovering alcoholic, forgot to say.
My niece says I am a “good listener.” She feels safe and comfortable talking to me.
I listen to a world that does not listen to me.
I hear their stories: the births, the children, the grandchildren, extended vacations
to the south of France. Side trip to the north of Scotland. The fortieth wedding anniversary.
In my story, I will tell you: they ask few questions about my life.
“Are they not interested?” “Do they pity me?”
“Are they too busy, stressed, rushed, preoccupied
to try?”
In my story, I will tell you: I wasn’t sure I wanted children. I did have a spouse at one time.
In my story, I will tell you: I tried to have children, but my body was ill, perhaps too old
by that time.
In my story, I will tell you: my story is not done. I am living and breathing a chock-full life: the one
I rebuilt out of the dirt and debris.
I will tell you: I am a poet, an aunt, a friend, a sister, and a writer. I have a Ph.D. I help people, serve communities, fight for justice in the world.
A bunch of good things here.
Sandy Sjollema