February 2016
Laurie Kolp
lkkolpbmt@yahoo.com
lkkolpbmt@yahoo.com
Family is very important to me. In fact, my chapbook Hello, it's Your Mother (Finishing Line Press, October 2015) is about my sometimes tumultuous relationship with my mother and how I came to terms with this as I cared for her while she was dying. I learned an important lesson: we all do the best we can. Live your life, live and let live. Please visit me at http://lauriekolp.com.
Change of State
After the blackout, I stand
and scrape pebbles from my knees
uncovering pinpricks of blood,
and rather than panic,
note calmness in the woodlands
surrounding my back porch.
Much too gorgeous to ignore:
the many shades of green with spring pastels
like dots along a rain-soaked path,
escapement from reality.
And yet I wander
through sliding glass doors
to vacuous kitchen.
A wet paper towel daubs the filth away
and stops the throbbing of my body,
a washcloth placed upon my fevered forehead
by my mother.
I left my lover this morning.
Everything I thought I ever knew
about truth suddenly cracked
like frozen tree limbs.
As fast as one cold snap,
frost that bites the fragile dead.
Like me.
- First published in Gyroscope Review
The Junk Drawer Find
Your drugstore reading glasses
pop out of the kitchen junk drawer
like a hand-cranked Jack-in-the-Box
and punch me in the face
until all I see is you
sitting on the piano bench
bent over piano keys,
your squinty eyes glued to piano music
while arthritic fingers
move up and down the piano
in perfect time.
The optometrist’s prescription
for a stronger strength
still hangs by a magnet
on the refrigerator,
the date 2010.
I tried to encourage you
to get it filled
just like I tried to get you
to the doctor
before it was too late.
After the blackout, I stand
and scrape pebbles from my knees
uncovering pinpricks of blood,
and rather than panic,
note calmness in the woodlands
surrounding my back porch.
Much too gorgeous to ignore:
the many shades of green with spring pastels
like dots along a rain-soaked path,
escapement from reality.
And yet I wander
through sliding glass doors
to vacuous kitchen.
A wet paper towel daubs the filth away
and stops the throbbing of my body,
a washcloth placed upon my fevered forehead
by my mother.
I left my lover this morning.
Everything I thought I ever knew
about truth suddenly cracked
like frozen tree limbs.
As fast as one cold snap,
frost that bites the fragile dead.
Like me.
- First published in Gyroscope Review
The Junk Drawer Find
Your drugstore reading glasses
pop out of the kitchen junk drawer
like a hand-cranked Jack-in-the-Box
and punch me in the face
until all I see is you
sitting on the piano bench
bent over piano keys,
your squinty eyes glued to piano music
while arthritic fingers
move up and down the piano
in perfect time.
The optometrist’s prescription
for a stronger strength
still hangs by a magnet
on the refrigerator,
the date 2010.
I tried to encourage you
to get it filled
just like I tried to get you
to the doctor
before it was too late.
©2016 Laurie Kolp