Poetry By Nikoletta Nousiopoulos

      marc horowitz Flickr



dear baby,

burrow under my belly button
your tender, translucent feet.

when you turn away from the light
you turn closer to my heart.

I created you without knowing
what humans are made of

and why
the bone, the bone, and the blood

of my DNA dropped like star dots.
inside you are kept with the darkness

and bright life, and
when the fear settles down

it cradles you to sleep
in the sac you float in,

swim in, and stay in: my body
universe, this mother-space.




nesting

your father & i have been gathering the last leaves of fall
to stack in your crib / we want you to know
what the earth prepares can be used / to harness
scents of red & orange / to collage / the paper mache
of dead things / for the past 8 months / your father
has saved every rock shaped like a hand / to welcome you
but i’ve planted the ones that look sad / you will learn
your father is the moon-stone / in a rock collection
the one you hold on to / the one you promise to keep

​

Nikoletta Nousiopoulos is a mother, wife, and poet who resides in Southeastern Connecticut.  She published all the dead goats in 2010 with Little Red Tree Publishing. Some of her poetry has appeared in Tammy, Pioneertown Literary Journal, Thin Noon, Meadowland Review, and others. She is taking some time off as an adjunct professor of writing to focus on motherhood and poetry. 

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