Poetry

Old Hugs

Photo by Loume Visser / Unsplash

A poem by Nickie - March 26, 2026

As a child, you think you'll always remember, the feeling of your grandma's hugs.

Your young, strong arms gently wrap around her lean, weathered shoulders.

Fragility that was earned through decades of hard work.

As an adult, that memory fades, as you slowly start to forget.

And just when you think that feeling is lost forever,

Your mom's hugs start to feel different, in a way that is achingly familiar.

The Grander Canyon

A poem by Nickie | October 8, 2025 My heart is a rock, hard, sharp, and heavy. cold to the touch. Hold it in your hands, jagged edges, eager to break skin. Shrouded in a layer of dust, forgotten. Crack it open and see who I've been. A canyon

The Enduring Creative

A poem by Nickie || May 20, 2026 My therapist wants me to work on showing up as my authentic self. But how do I break it to her that I've tried that and it doesn't work? Too loud. Try hard. Doing too much. Doing too much.

I never write poems for my husband.

I never write poems for my husband because I could never provide shade to the trees or quench the thirst of a flowing river. I never replace the shingles of my roofer's home or restore the brakes in my mechanic's car. I never write poems for

generational wealth

A poem by Nickie | May 17, 2026 I write my poems in my ancestors' blood On the trees that were planted centuries before borders stained the maps. The steel that forms the cages imprisoning their children was crafted from the same stones they carved freely into calendars that tracked

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The Grander Canyon

The Enduring Creative

I never write poems for my husband.

generational wealth