POETRY THE PHRASE Nikia Leopold Sometimes, traversing a day, the phrase arrives: ‘My kind father.’ I pause, go on, knowing this is a way we’re remembered. Nothing specific, nothing planned...
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POETRY ONCE MORE Nikia Leopold The full moon rises at the top of our street, a gradual discovery made together settling in. Each month the moon floods the boards of our bedroom floor with...
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POETRY MARKET Nikia Leopold An old woman moves toward me, using her cart as a walker, head hunched into fragile shoulders. I see her often here, respect her painful travel through the...
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POETRY FAMILY Nikia Leopold Walls of narrow streets were neighbors, facing windows borrowing light, shade. From our balcony I noticed a bowl of fruit emptying, filling on the table opposite....
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VACATION Beyond my pillow the Arno stalls. Carp are still. No current discloses source from destination. Spring and sea pause like two middle-aged shoppers comparing the virtues of fresh water...
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I’ve written a dozen postcards in this hill town to say I remember all of you, there, where you should be, rooted in various places. Here each village seems someone left behind, a red...
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Nikia Leopold Escarpment from Water Here the land-scent sweetens salt With waves of Beachplums and succulents. From the lapping water A dazzle of seagrape Leaves and sun On the ridge. The reef...
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