Nicole Johnson

I’ve often reminisced about the wind gliding through the luster of my hair,

I am transfixed—

by the place that gave me asylum from my own pretenses.

I walked through the meadow,

Stumbling upon the lives that appeared before me

An existence of utter tranquility

That momentary silence heeded

Engulfed by the need to stop the clutter of voices

Preventing ink from touching paper.

To feed upon my own insanity

They told me not to hide.

The sun bore through the trees

My skin displayed the absence of light—

Forming this connection.

I knew we would thrive

Inside the globe of our ancestors.