To be a piece
To be at peace
Don’t call me on my homophone
It’s likely that I am alone
But is alone, a singular state? Alone because you are unknown? A loan because you want a home?
Peace is often associated with solidarity; something for which we’ve waited
A state sedated, perhaps over rated
Peace for me is found in a crowd
Strangers to surround, ears are filled with the din of a city’s sound
Camouflaged by the anonymity of vicinity to those with whom we share our city
What is my piece?
Where am I at peace? Do we ever really know until we’re deceased?

All lights dimmed in a filled room ups the anticipation,
Music soared through the speakers preparing us for action,
Cinnamon sparkled my lips bitten off its sugar,

Costing me a Nicole(Nah, I Kid-man.) per platter,
I sink back in a cushioned seat leg raised in a hump.
Not words were said nor a phone buzzed, we watched as ads jump.
Energy flowed with action but mellowed down in serene,
Movies made me feel better ’til the credits end scene,
All left the room content from 2 hour-ed serenity.

Take me back to the place where they know my name,
Where no one is a stranger and what makes us different is just as beautiful as what makes us the same.

Help me find the spot where laughter and dancing heal,
Where everyone is given room to be exactly who they are
and all the space they need to feel.

Find me a realm where beauty is all around,
Where nature’s canvas can be seen and heard, and what was mundane becomes profound.

Search with me for the moments where we are fully embraced,
Where the world throws open it’s arms for us with no judgment of fears or mistakes.

Oh, take me– but don’t take me alone. Help me find these places and then help me take them home.

[This is a tribute to a beautiful camp I have had the privilege of being able to attend twice now, with a community of self-proclaimed “Misfits,” brought together by a band called Magic Giant. The band and their fans are truly some of the most open-hearted people I know! Being with them gives me hope for the world and faith in myself as a writer. Several of them continue to encourage me to share my voice, and truly help me feel so grateful to be alive!]

Rudimentary – sedimentary.
Rocks stab at my instep
Harsher than reality
I hardly felt it’s indent –
Something there distracted me.

And so it is in staggered thoughts
I’ve perceived the imperceptible

Fleeing from me just so fast I caught it in a blur.
I see it in the daydreams,
the ones revolving her.

We spoke some folly years ago.
About our favorite place.
I recall all her expressions,
But can’t remember face.

For maybe it was shame
That kept me from her grace
Now every time I think of her
I think of waves and space

I think aloud and pace.
I write it on a page.
Still nothing can return me to
those 16 years of age

The source of all my pain
The moment let escape
I hadn’t strength to tell her
Because I thought I’d wait.

From then, she washed away
Just as her favorite place.
The only time I feel at peace
is when I feel her waves.

Crash! Shh!
These are the sounds of my saving grace,
the thing, the moment, the space
that is my bliss, my serenity, my peace,
where evermore, life’s darkness can cease.
***
Crash!
My feet hit the sand
as I arrive at the place
where water meets land,
and the sun warms my face.
Shh!
My mind starts to focus
on the tide, on the waves.
Abracadabra, hocus pocus–
like magic, all my stress fades.
Crash!
Down goes my bag, my board,
as I prepare to dive in… to
a world where from strife I’m unmoored;
a world that is salty…and blue.
Shh!
Quiet goes my inner voice,
and all I can hear, the only sound–
by nature, not even by choice
is what’s buzzing about in my paradise found.
Crash!
For practice, I leap off the ground… and yes, perfect stance!
Legs planted well, right in the middle.
That means it’s time to get in, time to dance,
so I take to the surf, at least for a little.
Shh!
I am calm, I am zen,
as I paddle out past the break.
Such stillness in the chaos of figuring when
to get ready, and which wave to take.
Crash!
I wait, I scan, then I choose my mark.
I go, I go, I get up…and I ride!
And with that comes the fiercest spark
that pulls open my heart, pulls my smile so wide.
Shh!
In such a moment, I don’t give a darn about money or things,
No, here work and love do not worry me.
‘Cause here is most where my soul freely sings.
Yes, everything’s dandy when… I’m surfing the sea.

Can you feel it
Hear or see it
At first zip
No need to trip
The moment I glance
Another chance
Shooting through and through
Oh the view
An overwhelming sigh
Boy do I feel high
Relief
Together in breif
You see it
Committed

A safety net
Make me sweat
Your the someone I’d put first
Wrap yourself up in his comfort
I wanna scream
Wake me from this dream
Flounder with ease
It’s me you shall please
Whole body’s weak
I can’t even speak
Minds in a trance
A little love and romance
Souls a bliss
It’s you that I miss

Into the frosty blizzards of winter
No time shall hinder
Continuous breeze through the crisp Spring air
Come and go as you please, no despair
Entering warm Summer nights
With all of you in site
Beneath the trees of Fall leaves
Oh the web we wove and continue to weave
In the midst of the dark
Making my mark
Manifestation of orbs
It’s you that I adore

If I could touch you, just once
You know it’s you that I hunt
I look up, I see you
Full view and I pursue
The world turns
Heart burns, it yearns
Tender Love let us feast
Together in peace
Serenity, oh the intensity
I melt
Under your belt
Orion

Dear Country Concerts,
From the moment I first went to you
Cowgirl boots rocking in the stars
Flashing lights like the northern lights
Singing along to the late nights
The late night drinks, the late night music
Us speeding along like there is no tomorrow
Time Standing Still
Living the life we dreamed of
Stomping our feet against the wind
Night Flowing like it’s never going to end
Healed hearts,
Phones disappearing like ghosts
No service, no responsibilities
Becoming one with music
The music is you
Heartfelt conversations and times
We’re all the same
We’re all the same in the moment
Swaying like astronauts in space
no gravity, no gravity

Where and when I feel most at peace: A poem titled “Dancing at Pride with Butterflies”

A girl, too afraid to
Dance
Goes on a road trip
With new friends
And a second
Chance

A girls trip to
Pride
Uncertain if she
Even fits in
With this new
Tribe

To herself it feels like
Butterflies
That finally found
A home where
They can freely fly
Souring through the
Skies
She found a place
Not on a map
Like a pin
But in herself
She found release
In her own skin
She finally felt peace

A girl, too afraid to
Dance
She swims through the
Crowd
Eyes closed, she spins
And lands in bliss
One with the music
She danced as
Always she would
Fearlessly
All because she took a
Chance

-Sasha Nichols

I fall into a trance… One where I live through my peaceful desires. Seeing myself drifting on the musical waves of my bass strings, croaking in harmony.

I land into another vision, one where I’m bringing peace with my fist. I train the martial art to release the heat. I take a left and a right to the jaw, slipping out of my trance. Rattle, Rattle, as I croak in harmony.

When I wake, I shake my head in disbelief… I made it. I’m back on my lily pad just drifting down stream. Take it easy Bufo!!!

Hello my love,

How fitting it was that I first met your father thousands of miles away from our overgrown backyard on the fringes of Appalachia. At his colmado — a neighborhood bodega and makeshift bar, you explained — in Villa Juana — the hood, you explained — as a raging frenzy of politically charged demonstrators flooded and throttled the streets around us. It was best to be careful this close to the election, we were told, only to later find ourselves caught in the throes of the collective and unrelenting march. Every street that was ever paved was created with the potential for such chaos, as long as humanity exists to take to them with signs, chants, shouts, shoves, and song. The neighborhood was manic and alive. Two tall stools along the countertop bar of the colmado, alongside your father and uncle, were the only refuge. That, and the beer in big bottles so cold they had frosted over white.

Hundreds of miles away, in the all-inclusive resorts that dotted the outside of the islands eastern half, conservative tourists paid top dollar to be kept far removed from the very havoc that now swirled around us. There is much that could be said about that sunny afternoon that melted into night as tall green beer bottles wrapped in soaked white paper piled up on the counter. Every once in a while, a shot of Brugal to loosen the screws around us. The clamor from the street behind us melted into the distance as the day wore on.

There was a peace that I felt in the hours that followed unlike anything I’ve felt for a while. In that moment, alongside you, young, newlywed, half-buzzed, at the climax of an adventure that had taken us to what felt like the throbbing edge of the world. Each atom around us buzzed with the vibrance of a visceral reality — far removed from the one we left behind, which now in retrospect seems so self-obsessed and comfort-prone it is stripped of most real authenticity. It was a return to the squirming, crying chaos we are all born into and are all so quickly trying to put behind us, it seems, where concerns of which toothpaste nine out of ten doctors recommend, celebrity feuds, and a flimsy freedom prevail — as long as your car note, electric bill, and the grass in your yard are all constantly minded.

And I could still feel the echoes of what we had left so far behind after your father rolled his wheelchair to the front of his corrugated steel home and began blasting the Bee Gees and Barry Manilow on a tower of front-room speakers. His story, which played out over Presidente and styrofoam cups of liquor, continued — the sicario who put him in his wheelchair for life after opening fire on a street, just like this one, thirty years ago, might be locked up in a Mexican prison somewhere. It was a conspiracy plot, not a freak tragedy. Revenge was still on the table, however improbable. The Americans have been, and continue to, pull the strings around here in ways no one can fully imagine.

Now, it was Bob Marley’s turn on the speakers. Darkness settled over the neighborhood while people who knew you, my love, as a little girl, stopped by to see the woman who had become of her. The woman I would eventually marry and see the world through pandemic and protest, deaths, both big and small, champagne-soaked celebration, and quiet nights lit only by campfire sparks. There is a peace in finding what’s worth surrendering to and fighting like hell against everything that isn’t. There is a peace in allowing the world to swirl around you, let it do what it must, its best and its worst, as you take in your fellow man. There is an ancient spark in spirited debate over a passed bottle; in a father reuniting with daughter; in the embrace of a community.

As we left the neighborhood, headed back to the center of Santo Domingo, as my sweated-through clothes stuck to my back and legs, I considered that I had been a part of something unique, holy, even for one night, and that, across the world, neighorhoods and communities, shared moments like these where people ventured from their front doors, set up some plastic chairs in the shade, shared a meal they cooked, bought a neighbor, or stranger, a drink.

It helps to be reminded of these things every once in a while.

I want to thank you, my love, for your very existence and for bearing witness to it all alongside me. There is a peace, warmth, and dazzling beauty in sharing it all.

Love,
J