Poetry by Laurie Kolp
Laurie Kolp, author of Upon the Blue Couch and Hello, It's Your Mother, has poems in Stirring, Whale Road Review, Rust + Moth, Front Porch Journal, and more. An avid runner and lover of nature, Laurie lives and teaches in Southeast Texas.
Tempestuous
All night the nightmare
will taunt. It will haunt
the sleeper with death
songs thrashing to off-
beat redemption.
Inhaling stagnant air, her
breath labors. Pregnant
trees thump against
the gutter, erratic wind
a shrill, a gust. Thunder
exhales like chronic smoker
coaxing, volume
maximized, the clank
of bones beneath
her bed rattled
opposition. Lightning
flashes, eyelids lift to face,
tempest thrusts
shadows on gray wall,
a scream lost
in evening storms.
Sometimes It’s Best to Take a Detour
I’ve been down this road since then,
have completed her course
pulled-over sober
judged on straight line—
so why is it so hard this time?
I try to think my way through it,
try to picture myself elsewhere
but I’m not good at directions.
If I pause and marvel
the carve of her seduction might
tempt me to take a wrong turn.
There is no telling how long
I’d wander in toxic remorse
lose everything, maybe die.
I reach my shaky hands
toward the sky.
I never want to forget
the heavy regret of one sip—
can there ever be just one?
I am stuck to this seat, I will wait
until the craving passes.