Month: April 2025

The Pier

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

You can see where the old pier
used to be, hundreds of water
warped posts standing at attention
in the shallow water. You can see

how low the tide has receded. They are
lost souls, blackened by time and hard
water, seething salt from tattered torsos.
They watch the beach as if they remembered

the feel of sand between their toes but
they have sulked too long, become one with
the rippling patterns. Strangers forever
separated by five distinctive feet.

“The Pier” is previously published in Chasing Rabbits (2012).

Cold

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

I freeze
without you.

The towers
I place
around me
are set
on fire,

but they can
not keep
me warm.

I reach
for you,

not as easy
to find
as I hoped,

not quite
where I
thought you
would be.

In your
absence,
I lay
a slice
of memory
on my chest,
over flesh,

not as tender
as I remember,
not as much
a second skin,

yet
somehow
the shiver
is pacified.

“Cold” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).

 

After He Left

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

They said
I would start
hearing things:

the heater
click-click-clicking
on and off,

cars driving by
at all hours,
the tap, tap, taping of
the dog’s toe nails
on the kitchen floor,

a phone call
at two am,
the crash of the ice
from the freezer,
the rattle of wind
knock-knock-knocking
at the front door.

They said
I would hear
remnants of
our life together
in the morning news,

the creak-creak-creaking
of sunken
floorboards,
in the way the
blankets rustle
to the floor,

and the way water
drip-drip-drips
from faucet.

But I don’t
hear anything,
only silence.

Nothing but
silence.

“After He Left” is previously published in Door is a Jar (2023).