Katrina Kaye
Apologize.
Forgive.
It happened,
it happened,
it happened.
It’s part
of your life.
Accept it,
accept it,
accept it.
Make it armor.
Don’t flinch.
Don’t turn back.
Don’t be ashamed.
You made
mistakes.
You are human.
Be humble.
Don’t be sorry.
Accept,
accept,
accept.
Mend.
“Resolution” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).
Katrina Kaye
The moon’s calm broke,
spilling elusive shades
over the sky’s backdrop.
I remember how we hurried.
Skirted over rocks and rivers,
caught butterflies in our teeth
and squeezed grasshoppers in our toes.
It was minutes till sunrise,
when the world was at its blackest.
We were enveloped,
just the two of us,
stolen from the wake of the world.
With slippery fingers
we climbed the crevasse,
hoping arms would not give out
demanding our gasps and split fingernails
lift us just a little bit higher.
Upon the apex,
we watched rising mist
begin to sink beneath the orange glare
of a breaking sun.
It was the first time you told me
you loved me.
We sat at the edge of the world,
hanging our feet off granite ledge
and tried to touch the surreal with
impulsive fingers still flecked
with green and bits of insect.
“What we brought” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).
Katrina Kaye
I wake at 2:37am
Tuesday morning,
all knees and elbows
reveling in the sound
of your late summer storm.
I feel that clap of thunder
in my hipbones,
inhale the flash of light
in the cage that holds
my impatient heart.
I’m thinking of how it might feel
to have you next to me in this downpour.
Your hands on my body
displayed in the night’s electricity.
The rhythm of you
like sheets of hail beating my skin.
I conjure,
at 2:37am,
your moisture spreading
along the line of my clavicle,
your thumbs dripping into the
flesh of my thighs.
I imagine your violence
drenching me,
spit and splash as I
soak into you.
You collect my hair,
moist from your shower,
sweep it from my body,
revealing soft flesh underneath.
The condensation of your lips
caress the back of my neck,
fingers tap ripples against my spine,
something about the rain at 2:37am.
The storm doesn’t hold back.
It is unleashed, wild and primitive,
and I picture the rise and fall,
the beat of you,
the growl and flash,
reflected in hungry gestures
before you move on,
leaving remnants of your tempest
dripping from my window ledge.
“Rain” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014) and as a performance piece on Youtube from the 2012 ABQ Indie City Poetry Slam Championship.
Iron & Sulfur 
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