Burial Ground

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’s poems have appeared in Stirring, Whale Road Review, Pith, and more. Her poetry books include the full-length Upon the Blue Couch and chapbook Hello, It's Your Mother. An avid runner and lover of nature, Laurie lives in Texas with her husband, three children, and two dogs.