Tag Archives: Laurie Kolp

The Letter

In the wind I watched the truth whoosh away on flaming wings— the letter that you wrote a wayward cardinal. Through the paltry air it drifted past today, spun whirlwinds of regret. A throttlehold, the traces left buried me alive … Continue reading

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Your Coffin

Reaching out, my hands are met with cold steel instead of your embrace, March winds shiver through my bones and I can’t stop my legs from quivering. Whispers hushed as tiptoe steps progress from mushy grass to something artificial on … Continue reading

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The Old Polaroid

I learned to swim in Galveston that summer Dad threw me in the pool with an inflatable inner tube of red, yellow and blue just in case I needed it. You stood nearby, water to chest, hands outstretched close enough … Continue reading

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The Problem with Impression

A whooping crane swoops down upon the water’s edge calling for its mate. I see him from the beach cabin where I wait wet sand clinging to my feet like cookie dough as I swing, small chunks fly off and … Continue reading

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