Tag Archives: love

Looking Back…

Hi!!! ::wipes dust off of blog::

I hope everyone is well. I’ve been writing, writing, writing…but secretly. I am trying hard for a chapbook, have been lucky enough to read at TWO poetry events in the last few months, and have also had two pieces accepted by publications (both forthcoming). I am feeling very creatively blessed at the moment, and am so excited to share those poems with you when they are released.

I’m stopping in to share a piece (I was fortunate enough to have Freshly Pressed) I wrote back when I was big and happy and very pregnant. My son will be two this Friday, and I am a big ball of emotion right now. What a whirlwind it’s been since he entered our lives. I couldn’t ask for a better life. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I am proud to be his mama.

 

Here’s a link to that piece I wrote before I got to meet that precious boy: a poet to her son

Wishing you all well.

 

xoxo,

Nicole Marie

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did she (part III)

 

clasp cold hand

over cold hand

over mouth

 

fingers like

branches

search for the

telephone but they are

catching on all the edges

 

and we are

unraveling

unraveling

un

rav

el

ing

.

 

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I think he’d even ask for you

my sweet, small son with

so much light in his eyes

is busy wrapping small fingers

around everything he shouldn’t

 

and you are not here to call out that

bellowing “yo”, shake your head and

belly laugh, sip a glass of chianti

I’d  snuck next to your plate.

 

I bet he’d stay on your lap just

a bit longer than anyone else’s.

 

I bet you’d have some way of

taming this small beast that

would leave us all wondering, how.

 

I think he’d even ask for you

when his tongue starts forming words.

 

I still think he’ll know to,

somehow, even with you gone –

grandpa, great grandpa, I love you. 

 

 

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Dear Beautiful Boy,

mamaandbubba

 

I swear I dreamed you up and

That you are really made of starlight.

When you sleep I reach out and connect our

Constellations, just to be sure there are no kinks.

 

I measure the sharpness of your face and

Wonder if you will be the opposite of me:

A force, a light that others are drawn to like

I am drawn to you. Will you believe in God?

You can believe in anything you want to.

 

My love for you will never be measured

By your accomplishments.

 

I am your Mama, Beautiful boy,

long hair or short, ink on your skin,

a painted face, a red dress, on sunny days

and in a rainstorm.

 

Show me your teeth and your fists

And I promise, I’m your Mama then, too,

Still checking our connections.

 

There is no conditional love here.

 

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I call him love

I was hollow, once

still am

just knock, knock, knock

call out and you’ll hear yourself

for days behind my ribcage.

 

except I’ve been building

something special

in my quiet, novice way

dragging my tools to the

old shed out back in the rain,

plugging away in the half-light.

 

I call him love,

I keep him on a shelf

imperfectly painted green,

or turquoise,

 or maybe the exact shade

of some body of water from

some time I can’t really remember.

 

He’s by the only window, love

where the only ray of sunlight creeps in

and he grows and grows and grows

and sometimes we talk, but he’s still learning

and I know love loves me like I love him.

 

 

 

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all that we cannot change

my son chases sunrays that filter in and

dance across our living room floor,

and my heart is heavy.

 

in all those late-night conversations

let’s have a child, let’s move mountains, create miracles

there was a should we? that lingered on my husband’s lips,

always.

 

life, I said. it happens all around us. it stops for nothing.

not even for the darkest of days.

we still love, we still create.

 

we chase sunrays,

shape happiness with shaking hands

 

drive cars and drink wine and laugh

and laugh and laugh

 

and then we cry for all that we cannot change.

 

but then we sigh, take another sip, compose ourselves.

hug our children and whisper I love you and watch

our favorite television shows and drown out all the badness.

 

I touch my son’s cheek

I dream of his future

still, I regret nothing.

 

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we still love

sw-04

(http://abduzeedo.com/surreal-world-igor-morski)

she spies love

like a hurricane in her thin chest.

 

he holds her with rough hands,

makes use of his photographic memory

when he holds her and she turns away.

 

but remember this, she says:

we used to love in the dark,

when love was a good sunrise,

when our bodies understood one another,

 

before time made us love just a little more quietly.

 

we still love, she says.

 

only this way:

with each gentle sway of our son as he falls asleep in our arms

in fingers interlocked across the console after grocery shopping

at the dinner table, covered in conversation and pureed carrots

in sighs of exhaustion and mumbled goodnights

 

and sometimes

 

still

 

in a damn good sunrise.

 

**Hi from the parent side of things!!! It’s been WAY too long….but I’m still trudging along with this chapbook and raising this absolutely amazing little boy (who is almost ONE, by the way).

I’ll try to show my face around these parts a bit more often. I hope everyone is well.

 

xo,

Nicole Marie

 

 

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One Year

Three hundred and sixty-five days

Of life and death, my body swelling

Then returning – partially – to its original state.

All the while my insides are in a state of panic.

 

I bury my face in the crook of my son’s neck and

Somewhere in that small space I smell you.

He runs a fat finger across your photograph and you whisper to us.

 

I tell him all about you, this mythical creature, his great-grandfather.

He stares at the slow unhinging and hinging of my jaw, a mystery itself.

 

He smiles and I think the creases at the corners of his mouth could be yours.

You would laugh at his curiosity; you’d lift him even if you felt too sick.

 

If I could say it, say I believe in somewhere other than here,

I’d say you’re still sitting at the dinner table, watching the

incoordination of his small hands.

 

**

A huge thank you to those who continue to check in and follow my blog! I am still trying to balance my two loves: writing and my sweet baby boy. Of course, baby boy wins most of the time. 🙂 I am also hoping to begin work on a chapbook, focused on the loss of my grandfather (just over one year ago), and the connection I feel he has to my son, who shares his birthday. I will continue to post on here, although my posts may be scarce for a while…and of course to follow along with all of you.

xoxo,

Nicole Marie

 

 

 

 

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Mirrors

Your hands are your father’s

Only smaller, smoother like

The glassy sunsets of uncommon

Jewels. You raise life to your mouth

For inspection, you drink it in like wine.

I imagine your world in the prisms of

A periscope; you are seeing things I am much

Too jaded to see. The first hint of light that works

To wake me is your hundredth sunrise. Each

Morning you open your eyes and dream.

***

Our beautiful baby boy certainly keeps me busy and unable to post here as often as I’d like to, but thank you to those who continue to stop by and read my words. I truly appreciate it!

xo

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The Philosopher

He wakes and his Cupid’s mouth

Is thrumming at my breast.

 

I lift him high with tired arms

And he thinks I shaped the sky

 

With these two hands. In simple

Motions I am a life source, in

 

Quiet rooms by lamplight I teach

Him what words are. I used to think

 

I had not done enough, was not full

Enough of something until my own son

 

Searched my face like starlight. In twelve

Hours I became a philosopher in a hospital gown.

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