Nicole is a diplomat and poet. All she writes describes her personal point of view and in no way represents the official position of her dear government (especially on matters of love and life). Currently stationed in Shanghai, she finds this land of beauty and history to be endlessly inspirational. Her muses are dreams…and the flowering streets of this city.
after a summer rain
this fresh scrubbed morning
buttered rays shiver
against cornflower blue
even traffic embraces
the light— silver, black, white trout
slip through capricious currents
I took my potted plants outside
yesterday at dusk, leaving
jade palms turned up waiting
to fill dew-slicked cups
night delivered on its warm promise
washing away every regret
only I forgot to let my darkness
receive this moon-lapped baptism
have the joy shaken from my leaves
~
self-portrait as an island
“let this be a moment of remembering,
my love, as I stand at the edge of myself
cliff and sea grass”
-Donika Kelly
let me describe how I understand the geography of
us—dew on hibiscus hips, rain-rippled lapis waters–
be it dawn or nightfall it is always you. you an entire
ocean and my heart a rock-strewn island– cacti
and winds hungry for green. your waves meet my
coast, pearl foam blooms at the touch of tide and
a sandstone cliff—that, my love, is us. I imagine you
taking my photograph– gulls overhead, the sun’s soft sigh
into warm stone releasing endless tones of crimson
and persimmon to the murmured mantra of blue, sway
over motion, ripple of brine and fish, a whole universe
one body…and I float, I float in you, my dear. I rise reborn
another day buoyed by the simple bliss of being…and you
shoveled from “Love Poem” by Donika Kelly
~
self-portrait as a lake
I have my seasons—
when darkness extends
deep and slow
hours thicken
to ink
a poet told me that passion can exhaust
and
I am exhausted
my ice sighs
water turning like an animal
in its burrow
white moon tracing
feathered fingers
across my midnight
as
every wave aches
for the shore
we all must break open
for the sun to warm
our wounds
listen for that breath
taken, then held deeply
as love
slipping into the silvered stillness
of a glass-covered heart