Becoming

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

My aging face has changed more
than anticipated. I never expected
to not recognize myself in the mirror,

nor did I realize the footprint of every
thing I have ever done would fester
inside me and bloom on skin.

Is this what it means to become?

Perhaps this is the moment when
my rough fabric becomes fur.
Perhaps now,

(with the wrinkles and dark spots,
the daily bubble and sulk,
burn holes and scratches,
the swell of chin and lump of nose)

I am real.

Maybe to be real is to be a bit broken,

a bit aged,

a bit unrecognizable.

Woke

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

our task
as opened eyes

is to blink back
the tears of yesterday

allow the pain and refuse
to hide behind the shield

it is not just to see
it is to understand

and know better

 

After the Circus

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

the heat of the day left with the sun
but the earth still hums with warmth 

this is how to ascend
not with fireworks

but with breath

not with certainty

but with hope 

and I 

 (despite the dirt sulked in the creases of bare feet
despite the burn scar that  gently tints my body in ash) 

I am able to exist underneath a sky 
bursting with stars over the tops of tall trees
that sway, a gentle back and forth, 

 these are metaphors of connections never rationalized
a foreshadow of the time I too will give back to the earth 

and I am eager to rebuild 
not with bricks

but with memory

not with mortar

but with mourning 

I am fresh and unsoiled,
comforted in being so close to the earth