Poetry by Laurie Kolp
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.
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.