i used to believe i was a sunflower, sitting on a balcony. i soon discovered my dirty finger nails. i was never a flower. just a plantee. roots digging in my cuticles. not a rose. not anything that smells sweet, but i was a seed. saved. only sovereign when food was scarce and my cries for water became clear. a seed. planted in new soils. i am two weeks waiting. patience in our cool corners. headbands that soak the oil from my scalp. 1 pair of saved gold earrings. i am three sisters. A shed below my mothers yard. a stack of over used credit cards. soft sandals, short boots. barefoot. books i cannot complete. i am the paper hoarding pundit. a montessori mind. A the porch whisperer. the marble of my city. A toddler of payne’s holler. the sylvia, the silvie. silva, i am the spirit of the wood. i am pieces of the willow tree, as i climb back into the forest of our people. A listener. Of the question. i am a hand. hands. headstands. the sky on tuesdays, the air on wednesdays, the fire on fridays, the water, and the earth. i am the libra, balancing. prayers that hang along my window. i am the collage of polaroids. bulletin boards, magnetic words. the orange scarf on the weekends. i am the song that reminds me to read. telefone in the background. i am the four leaved clover i created with two crops. i am the sailboat that will be here when you come up for air. parked just the under the atlantic.i am the dictionaries of languages i do not speak yet. i am the tea soaked in honey. i am a slice of bread with zameta. sometimes peach jam. jamila. woh-thee-yoh. jam. jame-o. hbiba. madame. hayaati. baby i am black coffee with cold milk. cafe noir. i am lavender on your temples. i am burning our old leaves. i am the weaver, the writer, the wanderer, the seeker. the researcher underneath. a molecular meditator. perhaps i am not a flower. i am a garden. A Piece Of It.
PRE-ORDER AVAILABLE NOW. Released Fall, 2022. This book is organized in three layers: the top soil, sub soil, and parent material. We will discover the connections between the soil and the human system. GENRE: Poetry, Creative Non-fiction *Hardback $25.00 / Paperback $17.00
Excerpt of “Super Soil,” by Jamie Nix
“At what point do you starting telling your story. Is it at the dinner table? A first date night? An Interview? Or maybe it’s online. Perhaps with half a century underneath your feet. Or is it after you’re dead. When someone else writes it for you. A grandchild that speaks your name and only remembers the color of your hair before it faded to color of these pages. When does what you have to say earn it’s own spine. I’d like to think at the end of this, my spine is white like the bones in my back. The front page be yellow and navy blue because they are my mom’s favorite color and quickly became mine as soon as I noticed the patterns of my everything. The words in the book shall be black because when I am buried with this story, it will mimic the biochar I hope to someday become. Fueling generations after me. Long after me. Leaving secrets revealed, sonnets on the bed side, and a sacred, written story. Shared from my own mouth. From my roots through all the sub layers of my consciousness and into the top soil of my self. my family. my friends. my community. from me to you. tree to tree. a story that funnels into the archive of my favorite bookshelf. waiting for a new gardener to plant a seed.”