My Kind of Poetry

Katrina Kaye

Your kind of poetry arrives
unexpected at door
worn from the highway,
trailing wet footprints
across my Persian rug.

Road ridden poetry,
put away wet verse
you scribe over living room walls
as they watch us pulse.

I scrawl my kind of poetry
all over your arms and chest,
image heavy
dripping with metaphors you are
free to interpret,
free to wash away.

Lousy poetry.
Two o’clock in the morning poetry.
Dress you up in it
so I can watch you take it off.

You write your poetry
all over my red sheets.
Abrupt words
careless phrases spat
toward torso
too quick for me to catch.

Heated poetry.
Pull me close in the middle of the night poetry.
Wrap me up in it just to feel it unravel.

I leave my poetry unreadable
on Sunday morning pages.
Trivial lines and selfish verse
residing in the cracks around your eyes.

Soaked in solitude poetry.
Illegible scribbles
of the way the corners of lips
haunt shoulder blades
long after your silhouette
deserts front porch.

“My Kind of Poetry” is previously published in Amarillo Bay (2012) and The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).

Bone Collector

Katrina Kaye

She pieces together
a puzzle at a time.

A shard, humerus,
stretch of femur,

attempting to construct
fierce outline.

She collects broken dolls
with missing parts,

recreating what was
left to decay.

Eyes may fit better
in different sockets,

the porcelain doesn’t
always shine until

it’s cracked. She
takes her time.

Once the bones align,
the flesh can grow,

roped veins,
threaded muscles,

covering the white
of bone,

creating life,
a strength, a purpose.

With the patience
of glass, she draws

fine lips and outlines
the lashes of eyes.

Collector of dead things,
you hold the foresight

to see what could be,
once our construction

is complete.

“Bone Collector” is previously published in Bombfire Literary Magazine (2021).


Katrina Kaye

I stay until the clouds
come into your eyes.
Your body too warm
to convince me it is only a shell.

Although a chill has yet
to set into bones,
a placidity envelopes
around you more securely
than my arms ever could.

It is earth shattering;
it is broken rib
sticking its shards into lungs.

If I believed in heaven,
I could accept
you fled to a better place.
If I believed in a god
I could find
comfort knowing you are
at peace.

As it is,
I know only
you’re gone.

There was a time
I wanted to name all the trees
after your kindness.
Count leaves on stretched
fingers to recollect
how many days you
showed me love.

You healed scars
strapped across my spine
and allowed blackened feet
to balance on railroad tracks.
I was invincible
in the reflection of your eyes.

Now I stand alone beside
breakable body,
my finely woven plots
riddled with holes,
drowning in stillness.

“Stillness” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, LLC in 2012.