The other morning,

/ Katrina Kaye / 1 Comment

Katrina Kaye

the lilac in the front yard was filled with tiny birds.

Their first feathers still poofing under new coats;
all chirp and chatter in the excitement of learning to fly.

I watched them and their hurry; the exhilaration
of the new. What a lovely song.

There is no point to this story,
other than it made me momentarily happy.

The idea of capture and keepsake never crossed my mind.
There was no lust for ownership or some distortion of permanence.

No, this was just a twinkle;

a lost minute,

slip of seconds,

a glorious moment,

that ended quickly and forever.

 

 

“The other morning,” is previously published by Cajun Mutt Press (2024) and Kelp Journal (2024).

Preservation

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

Left to myself,

I sink,

and allow eyes to close.

To be

still,

stone,

ever vigilant.

Left to myself,
I will cease to exist
long before death
has the nerve to
visit my doorstep.

But I resist decay
by statuing
against chaos.
I close lips,
but keep eyes peeled.

I listen,

listen,

listen.

I am not
unchanging.
I rattle

back and

forth.

Left to myself,
I will fade
long before the sun
can bleach my bones.

So I protect the beat
of my heart and

feel each
breath fill

the empty cavern
of my being.

I preserve myself.

Hibernation
is not always
about rest;
it is about

 survival.

The only way
to make it to
the next season
is to let this one pass.