It feels like I’ve been here before.
The caw of the rooster waking you up;
The organized chaos of the traffic;
The smell of dust is sweet to me.
I can feel the Earth beneath my feet;
I can see the stars.
I can taste the sweetness of the fruit;
I can hear myself think.
It’s so nourishing,
The connection with the Earth.
When I stand, I’m rooted,
And when I fall, I feel welcome.
They tell us dreams are made
In a concrete jungle,
But concrete is made.
The Jungle is.
Is paradise really white and smooth?
Is it like a diamond, lustrous and bright?
Or is it green and brown and natural,
Like the Jungle where diamonds are from?
Reuben Miree, Tuskegee Fellow ’25
