Patience

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

I lost Patience,
or maybe she ran away.
Glory knows, I haven’t been
giving her the attention or
the praise she deserves,

and it’s been a minute
since I listened to her advice
with anything more than the practiced
active listening skills I learned
while bartending in my twenties.

Last I saw,
she was sitting alone at the table near the door,
shifting her eyes between empty glass and open door.

She’s not there now. Perhaps she
just needed a minute to straighten her backbone
and remember her composure. Perhaps
she will be back, but it seems unlikely.

And I admit:

disappearing has always been
more than an impressive trick;
it is a necessity,
right up there with invisibility.

She helped me learn both
once upon a time.

So let her have the rest of the night off.
I hope she went home early
to beat the traffic. Maybe she wasn’t
too tired to wash her face and indulged
in a hot shower.  Maybe she’ll read a
chapter or at least a poem or two
and with any luck, she’ll fall asleep easy
and warm and oh so very relieved.

Scrapbook

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

friendship stretches

then frays

closeness unraveling to memories
to the past

to nothing

 it doesn’t mean that love
isn’t woven into those recollections
and wrapped around the missed calls
the canceled dates

the passing ships

the regrets

 it doesn’t mean that seeing you
doesn’t fill me with a reminiscence
of the songs we sang

as children

your hug

warm and welcoming

as though it could support the years
that have passed us by

how long

has it been

did I tell you about

the morning I coughed up blood
how the pain in my chest finally revealed itself
as a tangible wound

 you never told me about

the nights you laid awake
gasping for air only to be find
it was your mind tightening its grip about throat

 these and other

earth quaking catastrophes

which casually surface in catch up conversations
years after

their initial tremble

friendship has the ability to transcend
we forgive each other

forgive ourselves

long enough to embrace a forever friend

inside the safety
of arms

and memories

and absolution

and love

and what was

and what is

there is comfort

I don’t remember every word or adventure
nor all these little glimmers of light

but I remember beauty and

peace

the sweet smell of lemongrass
laughter down the hall

maybe I am not that person anymore

neither are you

maybe we were lucky to find each other
at the right time

at the only time

when friendship was able to bloom

“Scrapbook” is previously published by Cajun Mutt Press (2024).

All My Heart

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

At 2 am on a Sunday night/Monday morning,
he comes home and wakes me with one
of our favorite albums on the turntable
and an invitation to join him in the moonlight.

Before I can protest, he turns me
into giggles and interpretive dance
as we sing the words we know
and mumble the ones forgotten.

Without knowing it was possible,
I am child again:

up too late without supervision and
no fear of consequence or tomorrow
creating a secret language with my best friend.

Until—
exhausted from spinning himself in circles—

my love,

who dances with his hands
as if they held sparklers and conducted orchestras,
who flips the album over and over and over
because he doesn’t realize we listened to both sides,
who looks at me as if I am magic
and serenades me with a lingering lullaby,

finally nests besides me in the low light of the rising sun,
and slips into the sweetest of dreams.

I rest my hand on his chest and feel his breathing
faster than mine like horses galloping or
the rabid beat of evening drums,
like mercy and the ever-growing need for love.

Who ever thought I could love so hard,
and a human no less, so unreliable, so inconstant,
but I do. I love with my strong hands and slow breath
and the music in my mind. I love with all my heart.