Bark mulch armors me brave.
When I separate its matter, I am defenseless
in the mounds I have made around me.
I become my mother: mattressed in living
room, all puffed up and naked, months like
Breaths are muffled grunts
because still air is too humid, hands
the only things movable in this
present moment. I rush
to disentomb mismanaged mess
until I reach moisture. There, the ashen soil
provides comfort I can admire.
Soon, I will cover the ground back up
with mulch knowing Mother
would want it that way.
Laurie Kolp is the author of Upon the Blue Couch (Winter Goose Publishing, 2014) and Hello, It's Your Mother (Finishing Line Press, 2015). Her recent publications include concis, By&By Poetry, Bracken, Up the Staircase Quarterly, and Front Porch Journal. Laurie lives in Southeast Texas with her husband, three children and two dogs.