by Laurie Kolp
As objects of affection, artichokes
belittle one’s
capacity to call us
disagreeable, to claim delicious thistles prickle throats
even when eating them. We imagine
fatty fibrous
gristle going through our guts.
However harrowing it is to heed their advice,
we cannot imagine having two to
joke about— jostling them around &
keeping us a secret
like our duct-taped breasts.
Maybe muscles move the mediocre masses.
Never mind the implications—pine-cone-like
opening us up to vulnerability.
Purplish partially piqued
questions about gender un-
resolved in
smoke signals.
Trick them into
uncovering un-goddess-like behavior, the truth an egg
yolk. Until broken,
whittling artichokes requires Ouija-board calling
Zeus back to the island of Zinari.
Laurie Kolp’s poems have appeared in the Southern Poetry Anthology VIII: Texas, Stirring, Whale Road Review, Pith, Rust + Moth, 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 Southeast Texas with her husband, three children, and two dogs.
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