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Abstract

d in my mind gave birth to my life and all its directions.</p><p id="cf3a">My mother came to get me. She came and took me from this lady. Thus, I went to live with her and my brothers when I was three and one-half years old.</p><p id="8c24">I didn’t know them or like them. They were different and didn’t do things right. I was there. I was there and nothing made sense. Nothing was right.</p><p id="768f">But the memories from my first years were there, too. I saw them but didn’t know what they were. So in my new world, they became my escape, and when — WHEN.</p><h2 id="a525">When there was yelling or meanness around, in my head, I’d see —</h2><p id="5348">I was wrapped in arms, whose I can’t see everyone’s smiling and talking to me. Few words do I hear but the sun’s shining bright and when I hear “It’s Little Katie, ” I’m filled with delight.</p><h2 id="8a50">When there was chaos or kicking, I’d see —</h2><p id="10fa">I’m sitting all cozy cuddled up in a chair fingers walking a path on the books in my hands; the path lined with flowers, by a tiny stone house, my fingers would hop from one stone to the next.</p><h2 id="b7cc">When I was hungry and fights occurred over the meager food offerings — when cornmeal mush was all we had and not enough to go round, I’d be —</h2><p id="393c">In a high seat close up to a table a man sitting calmly talking in a deep voice, with words, I didn’t know and the lady beside me “Drink your white milk and then you can have your chocolate milk.” Those were the words I remembered; the words that she said.</p><h1 id="f48b">Birth of My Eudaimonia</h1><p id="55b4">These memories and so very many others etched like sculptures and painted in awe sustained me and guided me in all that I saw.</p><p i

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d="b9d7">These things that I remembered kept me from sinking into a world of bitterness and hate as pain after pain — some that I could never mention, I endured. I had a place. A place I could go.</p><p id="ae8f">I had a place where everything was safe and peaceful. This is the place where I go when my day is over, and I’ve done all that I can to give joy to others not as fortunate as me.</p><p id="4f51">I have a place of my own where only I live.</p><p id="4728">I’ve a place of my own none can enter or be for it’s mine, only mine it’s where I’m free.</p><p id="febe">Simple words nothing fancy pen put to paper.</p><p id="57f9">That’s the way that I share it, this my eudaimonia.</p><p id="6d37">I, Katie Michaelson, grew up in many homes and in many places. The things that I learned in my first three and one-half years with the woman I remembered guided my life. I’m going to be seventy-three this year. I’ve volunteered since my teens and do still today. I put myself through university and earned degrees — dedicating my life to children and adults traumatized in childhood.</p><p id="5123">Thus this woman, who had no children of her own; the one who took me in and lost me through no fault of her own has been a mother and healer to many.</p><p id="b9ab">Thanks to Literary Impulse and Paper Poetry for this collaborative prompt!</p><p id="ba56">I tend plants and people from my 120-year-old home and small garden. I see strength in the injured spirit and find significance in the insignificant. Thank you for reading my simple words.</p><figure id="f2a1"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*Mr5vXgMrhmbPDEal54YZZQ.png"><figcaption>Image courtesy: Literary Impulse</figcaption></figure></article></body>

Literary Impulse & Paper Poetry ‘Eudaimonia’ Prompt Submission

I’ve a Place of My Own

Prose, prose-poem, and verse sharing the sacred place where I write.

My childhood was one of pain and not belonging to anyone or any group. But from what I was given, I’ve lived a life of joy and happiness. Despite being invited into the pain and anguish of others while doing volunteer work and my professional jobs as a therapist, researcher, and trainer — I’ve lived in serenity and peace.

My eudaimonia embraces me in a place, a place of my own.

And now I write, and you wonder?

What is My Eudaimonia?

I’ve a place of my own none can enter or be for it’s mine, only mine it’s where I’m free.

I’ve a place hidden way where time is my own where the past is today and tomorrow has come.

Where everything isn’t and what isn’t — is, in this place of my own where only I live.

And in this place I can cry if I like, remember my loves, and the times that made me take the bad with the good and be what I be.

This is the place where I write and share what I feel.

Simple words nothing fancy pen put to paper is the way that I share.

Whence it Came — This My Eudaimonia

Given up as an infant, I lived with a couple. I didn’t know them, though I now know who they were. They have passed, but the gift of memories which remained in my mind gave birth to my life and all its directions.

My mother came to get me. She came and took me from this lady. Thus, I went to live with her and my brothers when I was three and one-half years old.

I didn’t know them or like them. They were different and didn’t do things right. I was there. I was there and nothing made sense. Nothing was right.

But the memories from my first years were there, too. I saw them but didn’t know what they were. So in my new world, they became my escape, and when — WHEN.

When there was yelling or meanness around, in my head, I’d see —

I was wrapped in arms, whose I can’t see everyone’s smiling and talking to me. Few words do I hear but the sun’s shining bright and when I hear “It’s Little Katie, ” I’m filled with delight.

When there was chaos or kicking, I’d see —

I’m sitting all cozy cuddled up in a chair fingers walking a path on the books in my hands; the path lined with flowers, by a tiny stone house, my fingers would hop from one stone to the next.

When I was hungry and fights occurred over the meager food offerings — when cornmeal mush was all we had and not enough to go round, I’d be —

In a high seat close up to a table a man sitting calmly talking in a deep voice, with words, I didn’t know and the lady beside me “Drink your white milk and then you can have your chocolate milk.” Those were the words I remembered; the words that she said.

Birth of My Eudaimonia

These memories and so very many others etched like sculptures and painted in awe sustained me and guided me in all that I saw.

These things that I remembered kept me from sinking into a world of bitterness and hate as pain after pain — some that I could never mention, I endured. I had a place. A place I could go.

I had a place where everything was safe and peaceful. This is the place where I go when my day is over, and I’ve done all that I can to give joy to others not as fortunate as me.

I have a place of my own where only I live.

I’ve a place of my own none can enter or be for it’s mine, only mine it’s where I’m free.

Simple words nothing fancy pen put to paper.

That’s the way that I share it, this my eudaimonia.

I, Katie Michaelson, grew up in many homes and in many places. The things that I learned in my first three and one-half years with the woman I remembered guided my life. I’m going to be seventy-three this year. I’ve volunteered since my teens and do still today. I put myself through university and earned degrees — dedicating my life to children and adults traumatized in childhood.

Thus this woman, who had no children of her own; the one who took me in and lost me through no fault of her own has been a mother and healer to many.

Thanks to Literary Impulse and Paper Poetry for this collaborative prompt!

I tend plants and people from my 120-year-old home and small garden. I see strength in the injured spirit and find significance in the insignificant. Thank you for reading my simple words.