Burial Ground by Laurie Kolp

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

meddlesome weeds.

 

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.

 

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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.