Katrina Kaye

The lies have always
come easy. A candy coated
vibration between tongue and tooth.

But the promise of forever
sparse slips between lips;

sweet slander,
rarely invoked.

That truth came early and often,
at least to anyone paying attention
to the shift of sun across sky,

the bloom of flower toward dawn,
or the ceaseless shedding of skin cells.

The flux of uncertainty,
measured only by the assurance of change
leaves hands grasping for stone monuments
and brick buildings, as if holding on to
a hardier composition can create a sense
of stability.

As though one may convince
themselves there is no impermanence at all,

but we have all witnessed
the easy break and eventual mend of bone.
We have regularly watched the shift of clouds
constructing and destructing across sky.

I have never been one to count
my syllables, or consider the validity of each
statement that cusses from mouth,

but forever is one lie
I will forever
resist.

“Forever” is previously published on Saturday’s Sirens (2023).