Katrina Kaye

Wood, bone, steel,
are easier to bend
than the unseen.

At least this is how she felt.

No wall,
no gate,
no line marked clearly
in dead, brown dirt.

Yet the boundaries were
claimed long ago,
and the consequences,

outlined in the eyes
of fatherless children
and the creases
of blood caked knuckles
tightly weaving
wooden beads.

Our Father’s
whispered in remorse
can’t reclaim immaculacy
or breathe life
into aborted chest.

Inscribed doors
sway open,
attempting to reclaim
a wayward soul,

but persecuting eyes,
form unyielding barriers.

The reflection of
stained glass colored
her skin long ago.
The circling stations,
familiar faces murmur
Sunday morning’s story
of pink and pearl.

As a child,
she could recite all their songs.

“Resurrection” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, LLC in 2012 and one of the editions of Adobe Walls.