Flashback Friday: another poem from the past


pearls dropping at my feet
piling up
accumulating in little lumps
they ping when they hit
the ground
freshwater pearls
they bump and shift when they roll
each perfect in its imperfection
different origin
different message
hidden in the shiny curves
i see myself
the shiny sparkle that covers
the truth
that bit
that horrid bit of sand
flayed the oyster’s flesh
and now is encased in a
pretty lie
dropped at my feet
as i stand
deep in the middle of
truth and lies

a bit of sand

the shimmering ground
lies all around
these horrid pearls
ruthless, horrid, lying pearls

Nichole M. Dulin





There was a time, when the things I wrote
Could range into any place
Any fantasy
Any alternate reality
And I could push
My only worry was if my mother read them.
Gentle worries.

I’m so many more people now.
What will my children read in these words?
In these weaknesses?
In these fears?
In these mistakes?
In these passions?

Nichole M. Dulin