Katrina Kaye

I position his arms around my body
so they hold me like you used to
when we wedged into the twin bed
in your basement studio all those years ago.

I needed only to have you beside me,
to cure the cramp in my gut and
the crackle in my throat.

You are gone,
so I use him.

A restless boy with too much to prove,
who has your height but not your eyes,
who makes me laugh like you once did and
likes to watch me although I am looking away.

I shatter myself into him.
Useless in this skin,
I seek the soul beneath.

It only broke my heart a little when he left,
no more than a wine glass forgotten
on the floor crushed under the klutz of
an early morning stumble toward bath.

“Wine Glass” is previously published in September (2014).