As soon as / bluebonnets bloomed, blankets of / clover-covered fields /
developed. This was when we / eagerly piled the kids in the car / for
picture-taking. You / grabbed my open / hand and led me / into patches of
wildflowers. I / jumped ahead like a / kid even though my achy / legs
screamed at me. / Moments like these made my mind into a / nest.
Sometimes I / opened cabinets and found lost / puzzle pieces. /
Quizzically, you’d ask if I / remembered how they got there. / Sometimes
you / told me that / underneath the layer of / vagueness, violets bloomed.
Back then / we captured time in / X-ray-snapshots of the past. / Years
gone, memories now / zooming into slashed-up space.
–
Laurie Kolp is an avid runner and lover of nature living in Texas with her husband, three children, and two dogs. Her poems have recently appeared in MORIA, The Pinch, San Pedro River Review, A-Minor, and more. Laurie’s poetry books include the full-length Upon the Blue Couch and the chapbook Hello, It’s Your Mother. Follow her @KolpLaurie on Twitter and /KolpLaurie on Facebook.