Jessyca Mathews FulFills Her Dream of Being Published

Jessyca Mathews
Photo from Michigan.gov

Jessyca Mathews had one goal in mind since elementary school: To become a well-known author. She has more than achieved this goal. Jessyca is now a playwright, blogger, and author.

Jessyca, a high school English teacher, won MarketingNewAuthors.com's (MANA) Passion for Poetry Poet's Contest, and for winning the contest, MANA published her book Simply: A Collection of Poetry. In addition to her book of poetry, Jessyca also wrote the book 318: A Chubby Chick's Tales of Weight Loss and co-wrote the play Appointments: A Flint Water Crisis Account to bring national attention to Flint's water crisis. 

Besides winning in the book publishing realm, Jessyca was named the State of Michigan's Teacher of the Year for Region Five in 2019-2020 and was the recipient of the Michigan Council of Teachers of English's Secondary Teacher of the Year Award in 2018. 

In a question-and-answer interview with MANA, Mathews says she developed a love for poetry as a young girl, thanks to her mother. 

"She was the one who always had me to read when I was young," Jessyca said. "She always gave me poetry books to read, especially African-American writers."

Jessyca said she began writing poetry in high school. 

"There was a literary magazine, The Calliope, that was published for the students and staff," she continues. "I decided to send in some of my work in my senior year and ended up winning the writing award for the senior class. From that point on, I wrote poetry whenever the mood struck me."

When it comes to choosing her favorite poem, Mathews finds it "way too difficult!"

"I love the elements of certain poems," she said. "The diction and syntax of 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night' by Dylan Thomas give me chills each time I hear it. The first poems that I recited and loved due to the themes are 'Incident' by Countee Cullen and 'We Real Cool' by Gwendolyn Brooks."

Jessyca said her "favorite poet of all time" is Langston Hughes because his poem, "Theme for English B," was "my life in high school in the suburbs." Also close to her heart is Mary Elizabeth Frey's "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep," a poem she recited at her grandmother's funeral.

Jessyca's prize-winning work, Simply: A Collection of Poetry, runs the gamut of emotion, from sadness, exhibited in a piece titled,"Darkness,"("It's the feeling of isolation/Where memories are stalled, when no one is there to help you/It's worse when the darkness fall.) to sheer happiness as in "Superhero Fun Run,"("I'm enjoying being a child again./I want to think I can fly").

Some writers question whether it's too risky to enter writing contests. For Jessyca, it paid off. And, she encourages her fellow writers to "take on the challenge of contests..."

She adds: "It can end up being one of the best things to happen to you. Having Simply published is truly a dream come true for me. I am glad that I took that chance and entered MANA's contest."

Go HERE To preview Simply: A Collection of Poetry.

Enjoy MANA’s DR C reading of selected poems from Simply: A Collection of Poetry:

• In Front of the Church

• Loneliness

• Prison Letter 

• Grandpa's Michigan Jacket

• No Regrets

Follow along with DR C as she recites the poems below:

In Front of the Church

I stood in front of history, right in front of that building where the injustice of four innocent girls was thrust in front of the country's limelight. 

The day I stood there it seemed so peaceful and the sun glowed on the church’s rooftop. So elegant were the glass windows, so strong were its tall wooden doors. 

But suddenly I heard it. 

I heard the earth-shattering blast and felt the rumble of the ground that they must have felt under their feet. The emotions of the event made me lose my balance and I threw my arms out to my side for stability. 

I saw the nurses in white who had just placed their elegant white gloves on their wrinkled, dark hands, fall to their knees crying out to the Savior. 

I saw men wearing their Sunday best covered in the gray dust, down on their hands and knees, digging for something, anything that showed signs of life.

I covered my ears to suppress the sounds of mothers with voices trembling and creased brows with absolute despair. They call the four little girls' names:

"Denise, where are you, baby?"

"Cynthia, answer me, honey."

"Addie Mae, please call to me." 

"Carol, your mother needs you."

They don’t answer. 

The blast took them away. 

I open my eyes in front of the church. 

I stood in front of history.

Loneliness

It happens 

It happens when I realize the one for me can never be with me forever. 

He called me, filled with cheerful greetings, then says, cautiously, quietly: "I got married today."

Yes, married, as in "forever-hold-your-peace" married. 

He didn't invite me to come. He says that it was just last minute, just family, and he didn't have time. 

Odd.

He had time to call me many nights at forbidden times, he had time to share fantasies, his thoughts of “what-if-we-dids” with me.

He had time for sweet, passionate rumps in the car, when windows fogged from the heat between both of us, but not enough time for this announcement. 

I sat, teeth clenched, tears falling, and emotions raging, feeling every ounce of those sacred memories melt and fade like a candle’s last life in a dim, dark corner. 

He apologizes more and admits it finally, "You couldn't be there. If you were, it would have been hard to say those words." 

He wouldn't have said, "I do." 

I say, "Congratulations" and sink forever into the abyss of loneliness.

Prison Letter 

It came in the mail today, the prison letter from a foreign place that you will never visit.

It’s written by a person that has made more bad choices than good, has done damage to everyone in his path that has once again landed him behind bars. 

There are times that you can't stand what he has become and think about the pain and neglect he has caused to loved ones; 

the times you hid your purse when he entered your home, 

the times the phone rang with grandma crying to mom because he had stolen her jewels once again, 

or was standing at the door, higher than the clouds.

You learn not to be surprised by his actions, to shake your head in disgust with every crime and complaint about him. 

You found it better to turn your back, and not think of him. 

But lately, you've been writing him letters. Maybe, to help him pass the time while in his small, cramped cell. Or maybe in hopes that he will see that life was worth living for those who work hard to make the world better. Maybe the ramblings about your day's adventures would inspire him to do better, if, and when, he returned. 

The truth is, you don't know why you sit and write. But deep down you know that it is essential to talk to him. 

Maybe he can change. 

One can only hope. 

Grandpa's Michigan Jacket

Today was the day that dad decided it was time. 

The wind was strong and crisp with cool air, and wearing just his coaching Polo would not suffice. 

Today was the day he would wear my grandpa's Michigan jacket.  

Grandpa had got sick a year ago and it was a moment that changed the family, especially daddy. 

Grandpa had pain in his hip in early September. They determined he needed surgery next week. 

Later, cancer changed him and all the family on Halloween. 

I'm sure dad thought back on those events when he reached for that jacket in the closet. It was time to be wrapped in his father's warmth once again.

Grandpa's jacket would keep him warm, keep him secure, give him the strength to coach, and the strength to just go on with life. 

It fit dad perfectly. 

No Regrets

I have no regrets on my decisions in life, no feelings of failure in the men I've chosen, and the pain each has caused me. 

I have no regrets in losing my thinner figure that used to make men swoon with every hip twirl and shirts that exposed my bountiful breasts. 

There is no sorrow in seeing gray hairs start to peep through the crown of my head, the crows feet developing at the corners of my almond eyes, or sagging of the skin in my upper arms. 

There are no regrets because I am supposed to change, to age into this older creature of admiration. 

I am just fine.