Nikki was born in Harlem in 1950. At the age of 13, she gave her first poetry reading, at the Countee Cullen Library, a block away from where she was born. She has won numerous awards, including the 2003 Coretta Scott King Award, given each year by the American Library Association to an African-American author and illustrator “for outstanding inspirational and educational contributions.” In 2006, she won the National Council of Teachers of English Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children.
By Nikki Grimes
I come home,
feet about to bleed
from angry stomping.
“Boy!” says Mom.
“Quit making all that racket.”
But what does she expect
when, day after day,
haters sling words at me
like jagged stones
designed to split my skin?
I retreat to my room,
collapse on the bed,
count, “One. Two....
By Nikki Grimes
I am hardly ever able
to sort through my memories
and come away whole
or untroubled.
It is difficult
to sift through the stones,
the weighty moments and know
which is rare gem,
which raw coal,
which worthless shale or slate.
So, one by one,
I drag them across the page
and...
By Nikki Grimes
I am a door of metaphor
waiting to be opened.
You’ll find no lock, no key.
All are free to enter, at will.
Simply step over the threshold.
Remember to dress for travel, though.
Visitors have been known
to get carried away.Illustration by Shadra Strickland
