Nicole N.

Nicole N is an inspiring force. This poem, written with her as the subject a part of the Sister Series, a series of celebrating individual women and sharing their beauty through poetry.

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nicole n.

by Regan Smith

• • •

I was with her once, 
sipping tea, discussing the depths 
of our minds, the strangeness of dreams; 
but I know that this was only a brief encounter, 
for she lives in many worlds. 

She lives in galaxies, making her home in a
crater in the moon; she lives in a fairy forest; 
or among the sand in the middle of an ocean, 
maybe a home in one of her worlds is an 
open-aired room, thick with incense.  

But in every scene, there is a commonality; 
she creates fearlessly, passionately–
surrounded by great beauty; she is never alone.  

She’s met with an omnipresent force, which fills 
her to the brim with joy; whether she creates stars 
or streams or galaxies or poetry, it all resonates 
with others deeper than Marianas Trench. 

But if she never created another seedling, 
never wrote another word–even if she never 
spoke another sound, her warmth radiates; 
her joy is still contagious and creates mindscapes 
of moons of dreams and mountains of hope in others. 

She is fully seen, fully known, fully loved 
for purely her existence.

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Celeste

This poem is a part of the Sister Series, a series of celebrating individual women and sharing their beauty through poetry.

Celeste

by Regan Smith

She’s sitting in the sky,
overlooking the ocean.

I’ve never heard such whispers
roar the ocean waves,
her ear is tuned toward its song.

Her heart is pure gold,
as if there were glass in it;
though it is worth far more.

It weighs heavy for others, this healer;
holding a heart of humility.

Her settled assurance,
shift the tides in other’s lives,
pulls them closer to our Creator,
the ultimate Love.

Sister Series

I felt pulled to start a poetry series the past several weeks; this announcement coincides with International Women’s Day, a delightful happenstance. We’re calling it the Sister Series, a sequence of poems created with several particular women in mind. These are poems that swiftly sweep past the surface of their skin and swing deep into the beauty that dwells within their souls.

The introductory poem to this series is one I initially read aloud around a year ago. I’m proud to introduce the Sister Series with this piece, one which encapsulates my true birth-sisters, wrapped together within a single work.

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Jacquelyn Raquel Elizabeth

by Regan Smith
(poem also known as Sisters)

Baby blue stitches, 
little crossed threads creating denim patterns; 
though fading in the elbows. 

She paints oranges, develops photos of her sisters, 
and captures footage of the Cinquefoil flowers. 

She wraps her arms around her brothers, 
and laughs loudly; 
honeydew hope is held in her eyes.

On a basking blanket between two Cottonwood trees,   
with a short story collection between her palms, 
her face begins to freckle—
beneath her full eyebrows,
and on her soft shoulders. 

She is in the wind, and will grow weary, 
belly swells as baby grows—
resting her spine on the bed, 
as she pulls splinters from her fingers.

Gray strands emerge from her scalp, 
woven throughout her cocoa curls;  
it holds the air of the forest, 
and unravels beneath streams of warm water. 

A lively life looms, 
indigenous to encouragement. 

Her heart is held, 
familiar to a full mind—
but not foreign to today. 

I think she understates, 
how many good traits she received from her mother; 
how they both speak with words that break the bones of death, 
and shift tides with a whisper.

Sisters

Baby blue stitches, 
little crossed threads creating denim patterns; 
though fading in the elbows. 

She paints oranges, develops photos of her sisters, 
and captures footage of the Cinquefoil flowers. 

She wraps her arms around her brothers, 
and laughs loudly; 
honeydew hope is held in her eyes.

On a basking blanket between two Cottonwood trees,   
with a short story collection between her palms, 
her face begins to freckle—
beneath her full eyebrows,
and on her soft shoulders. 

She is in the wind, and will grow weary, 
belly swells as baby grows—
resting her spine on the bed, 
as she pulls splinters from her fingers.

Gray strands emerge from her scalp, 
woven throughout her cocoa curls;  
it holds the air of the forest, 
and unravels beneath streams of warm water. 

A lively life looms, 
indigenous to encouragement. 

Her heart is held, 
familiar to a full mind—
but not foreign to today. 

I think she understates, 
how many good traits she received from her mother; 
how they both speak with words that break the bones of death, 
and shift tides with a whisper.

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Credits
Poem, written + read: Regan Smith
Music, written + recorded: Ricky Smith
Cover photo, courtesy of Elizabeth Miller