SAI MARIE JOHNSON
Sai Marie Johnson is an Oregon novelist, independent journalist, and freelance designer with over a decade’s worth of experience.
She has worked with NYT, USA Today, and Amazon’s best-selling authors in addition to providing consulting on author services, public relations, marketing, and branding.
A passionate activist and author Sai Marie Johnson has dedicated her life to the advocacy of of important issues such as social justice, racism, sexism, human trafficking and genetic research for Duchenne’s Muscular dystrophy.
She has a reputation for asking the tough questions and holding people accountable at the highest levels.
THERE’S A SADNESS THAT HITS SO DEEP
It came about in blindness
A grief interwoven into the threads of all
That’s made me – me
Another soul taken – far before ever one should be
And madness ensues with the dismissive wave
Of those in authority.
Congregating, as we are – why do so many fail to see
The urge for truth – boiling, like a rage unsilenced inside me?
Cries from within dare to perk up
Demanding answers for what has been done
And still it seems that those forces remain unanswered – as if they’re goading,
Like they’ve won.
As long as I breathe, I’ll challenge these fiends
And never will I just remain quiet.
Some of us were born to do more than just exist –
we were brought here to try it
To try to challenge this evil force
And stand up with courage in the face of distress
And fight for truth to set us all free
Til the end of the end –
As we all deserve to be.
Sai Marie Johnson © 2024
THE SQUIRREL AND THE LADY
There comes a point in life when reality must be faced. That morning, this morning, any morning. When didn’t matter, but it still had to happen. Why? Why is it that every early morning you crawl out onto that particular limb and stare for hours at the crawling creature who gnaws on your chosen trees leaves? Wager to say that for the past few weeks its been a relentless repetition in actions that make no sense on the natural level. Animals simply do not fall in love with insects. Or do they? Perhaps, in retrospect, I write you now to explain that very theory to you in full detail. Let’s see if my perception impedes upon your reality enough to call it like it really is?
Yes, indeed, you are infatuated by the very bright red six-legged beast that lurks on the branch you sit on. Why else would you go there first, of all places? Surely you know that gathering time has approached, and if you don’t keep on task, you’ll starve this winter. And this is no jest, and yet you continue to simply stare endlessly as this shiny creature with black spots captures your gaze once again.
The look in your eyes is like stars crashing down to the earth into a black abyss. Nothing and everything exists within the darkness of your pupil, and all this I’ve gathered only from watching your antics for so long. It’s unnatural and yet here I am, a witness to its development. Quite a cute experience nonetheless, but I still wonder how you can love something you’ve no way to connect with other than to stare at? Or perhaps lift between your human-like hands, that possess such unique dexterity in the animal kingdom that maybe, just maybe, they could be used to caress the object you so desire. I can’t yet know this, but what I do know is somehow I’ve become the unknowing witness to an oddity within nature: the existence of love between two separate species that simply ought not be.
Friend, you’re in love with a bug. Not that I have an issue with this, certainly in this day and age we should accept that anyone, thing, or creature ought to be able to love whatever they wish. In your situation, however, I just hope your infatuation doesn’t drive you to the point of an accidental squish. I leave you this note now in hopes you’ll gain your courage. For I am sure that today, like every other day, will be yet another day spent staring idly at the thing you yearn for most: the ladybug on the limb.
Your Friend,
The Human in the Window
The note was left settled right beside the squirrel’s nest, and when it arose the next morning the squirrel squeaked and tore at the paper. As its nimble fingers ripped the envelope open, beady eyes settled upon the letter, and with every word read, the squirrel began to act more anxious. It fidgeted and waved its tail, curling it in and out every few seconds, only to lash it out in a whiplike motion once again.
Finally, whatever words had to be inked across the page were absorbed, and as the squirrel digested them it bounced down the limb, skittering down the trunk of the tree it lived in and hopping across the backyard towards the tree the ladybug lived on. It was a bit smaller than the other tree, but the squirrel made it up to that spot in a flash. Brown fur fluttered by so quickly that it was almost impossible to tell where the tree began, and the animal ended. The squirrel slowed to a crawl and inched slowly along the branch. Sure enough, there the ladybug was once again: bright, shiny, and beautifully bright red. Just as the squirrel remembered it. The squirrel dipped its nose down to the branch and nudged the tiny bug gently, eyes fluttering to a close as it caressed the little creature.
The sound of a low purr emitted from the squirrel’s chest, and as its eyes parted to view the bright red bug again the squirrel found the ladybug had crawled up onto its nose and stayed. Happy and content as ever the Squirrel skittered back down the branch and the trunk of the tree carrying the ladybug on its nose all the way back to its own tree! Amazingly enough, the ladybug never moved a single inch from its perch upon the squirrel’s nose, and with the object of its desire in tow the squirrel made way up his tree, across his branch, and dove deep into his nest within the wood.
And that was the tale of the ladybug and the squirrel.
Sai Marie Johnson © 2017
