Three Days

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Allow body release
from the weight
of the last few months.

Insides crave to be carved
free from that which binds.

Feel skin loosen.
Bone peak through
what dares remain.

Tonight, the sunset serves witness
to this request. Not for rebirth,
not for pledging anew,
but as a break to the mold.

Three days is all that is needed
to take the thickness of torso,
grounding of muscle, and shake loose.

Allow healing,

even if not complete,
even if only to prepare
for the next cut.

Break unconscious acts while
there is still time for forgiveness.

In three days, the body will refresh,
like creek water on sunny morning,
like the sound of screen door swaying open.

In three days,
the patterns will break.

May new ones form in their wake.

“Three Days” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2020) and “no longer water” (2024).

Stay

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

and when they
ask: were there tears?

yes, there were tears

and when they
wonder: where you angry?

no, I felt no anger
only loss, only failure

but his arms
were shaking with
so much anger

yes, there was sadness,
not exactly confessions

I didn’t want to know his
he already knew mine

denial? bargaining?
yes, those were there too

but in the end
he never asked me to stay
and I never asked him
if I could

“Stay” is previously published in Brickplight (2021).

Brickplight – Katrina Kaye

After the Funeral

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

The enormity of death can be too much
at times; the finality of it, too overwhelming,

so instead of contemplating prayers or words
of solace, the void is filed with the ordinary.

How important these sweet rituals,
these sweet, sweet rituals of routine
that once seemed so meaningless,

but now hold the only kind of salvation
that can comfort.

Tomorrow   we can talk of heaven.
The day after, discuss the roles of

death and then

the philosophy of a life well lived.

At some point    we can talk about
dinner plans and the obligations
of the weekend, at some point we must

be able to   compose a way through all those

things left   behind, but for now let there be
silence. but    for   now, we can    remain together,

hands close, but not yet    touching, learning
to form   words    as     if    for    the    first      time.

 

“After the Funeral” is previously published in Amazine (2025) and the Literary Underground (2025).