Creation Story

By Najya A. Williams, MD – Family Medicine PGY-1

Our annual photo contest has long been a popular tradition and a great way for physicians to share their creative side. With that spirit in mind, the ACMS Bulletin is introducing a new section dedicated to highlighting the artistic talents of our members. As a reminder, the ACMS Bulletin now encompasses our print and digital editions as well as the ACMS blog, ACMS Insights.

From poetry and photography to artwork and writing, this space will celebrate the many creative outlets that enrich the lives of physicians beyond their clinical work. If you have a piece you would like to share with the ACMS community, we invite physicians, residents, and medical students to submit their work through our online submission form for consideration in a future issue or e-mail your submission to acms@acms.org.

About the Author

Born and raised in Washington, D.C., Najya A. Williams, MD, G.Cert, is a Family Medicine PGY-1 at UPMC St. Margaret in Pittsburgh, PA. She is also a multidisciplinary artist, narrative medicine practitioner, and dreamer devoted to the liberation and healing of all oppressed peoples. Her poetry, essays, and other writings have been accepted and/or published by several organizations, including POETRY Magazine, Button Poetry, and wildness.

Creation Story

I.

After nine months of living in the dark ocean
of my mother’s own creation,
the time came for me to inherit the earth.

It was a Sunday afternoon,
and God had summoned the angels to the hospital
to welcome me into my next dimension.

With the swell and crescendo of every contraction,
dry land drew closer and closer.

When the clock struck 14:14,
I emerged from a parted sea –
blue and struggling to overcome
the double-looped cord around my neck.

Staff rushed to my aid
and my mother’s worries were soothed
not by cries,
but by something far more promising:
the suckles of my own fists.

“I had just won my first battle – as Black girl, as deity – and I was simply hungry for more.”

II.

For my first eight years on Earth,
I was held in the palms of divine hands – 
those of my mother and grandmother.

From a soft, fragile ball of clay,
they nurtured a kind, fiery bundle of precociousness—
a spirit they claimed had already been here before.

However, December 10, 2006
was the beginning
of a new kind of metamorphosis.

Grandmother had spent 66 days
battling Stage 4 colon cancer.

I was too young to be there
for every moment,
but enough to rub her feet,
lay in her arms,
and soak up all the time
I didn’t know I’d have left with her.

This particular morning,
I was excited to go home.
I had spent the previous night with a neighbor
and was ready to be with my mama.

Yet when I stepped into the house,
I noticed all of my family
sitting on the couch,
weeping silent tears.

Like the light beam my mother always knew me to be,
I still skipped to her,
expecting good news.

Instead, she handed me a rose—
the rose—
my grandmother wanted me to have
when she’d left this realm for the next.

Immediately, the dam inside me broke
and all of the saltwater I swallowed
inside my mother’s womb flooded me in an instant.

I had just lost one of my first loves—
as Black girl, as deity—
and I was simply too full
to be hungry for more.

III.

I spent the rest of my adolescent years
searching
for water that would restore
what I’d lost.

There were moments I thought
I’d found what I was looking for,
but time would reveal
that I was merely in a desert oasis,
far from the oceans that once flowed
mightily
through my veins.

It wasn’t until fifteen years later,
in 2021,
that the saliva in my mouth
reminded me of a distant past.

I had just unpacked the last moving boxes
in my first solo apartment
and laid out on an air mattress
in my living room underneath fairy lights

when I could hear my grandmother’s voice
in my ears,
saying how proud she was of me.

Of how my mother and I allowed our memories of her
to propel us
toward everything we ever wanted.

Of how we restored what we’d lost to grief
by loving each other through.

And as the moment her face faded away,
my stomach growled impatiently.

Saltwater tears ran down my face,
and I only smiled.

“I had just overcome my hardest battle — as Black girl, as deity — and I was finally hungry again for more.”

Share Your Creative Work with ACMS

Physicians are more than clinicians — many are writers, photographers, artists, and storytellers. The ACMS Bulletin invites physicians, residents, and medical students to share their creative work for possible publication in a future issue.

Submissions may include:

• Poetry

• Photography

• Artwork

• Essays or reflective writing

If you would like to contribute, please submit your work through our online submission form.

We look forward to highlighting the many creative talents within the ACMS community.