Tag Archives: Christine Nichols

Feeling Naked

My hands open, palms up. The white cup offers a naked nest. Here are wrinkled lines waiting for the tattered spine of a dusty book. Christine Nichols is a new poet from Stillwater, OK. She has been previously published or … Continue reading

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The Ghost of a Smile

The screen door sweeps you inside, and you bounce. Pigtails flap your shoulders like pancakes. The sun has looped syrupy freckles on your upturned nose. They slide down the bridge and leave tiny footprints across smooth cheeks, like drops rafting … Continue reading

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Apples

My eyes are wounded apples, dark wrinkles of humid skin. Folded into crevices are yesterday’s fragrant blossoms. You can’t see them in the valleys. But they are there just the same. Christine Nichols is a new poet from Stillwater, OK. … Continue reading

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My Pocket

I slide a finger between the planes of stretched-too-tight corduroy. The ribs, worn flat in all the wrong places. My finger hooks and seeks the flat edge of a pocketed poem. But it catches on threads and saggy lint, emerges … Continue reading

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Poetry on Demand – Make Me Care.

I told a story to my tutor. It was a story about a pregnant woman standing barefoot in her front yard. She ran outside without her shoes because her house was on fire. The fire was started because her dog … Continue reading

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