Katrina Kaye
it has been
seven years
since last
we touched
the final
flakes of body
that remembered
are rubbed clean
i am reborn
but there is
residual substance
in the circuitry
of mind
left over, sticky, and
lingering
a clue
clinging
to cobwebs
as clean as
body may be
it is no match
for the grip
of memory
despite the
warmth of skin,
muscle, heartbeat,
breath, and blood,
there is a chill
that sinks
to bone
“7” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2021).
Katrina Kaye
The knives she gave me
are perfect for slicing
strawberries at 10:24 pm
on a Thursday.
Almost too easy,
the way the fruit falls apart.
I miss her then.
Miss her sweetness
on tart tongue,
miss the way she told me
of true love
over and over by
counting my vertebrae
on slick fingers,
ticking off time.
There are too many knives
left behind.
More than half still wrapped
in cardboard and plastic,
held together with thin rubber bands.
The others stained with the juice
of fruit already sliced.
“Knives” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).
What is something you used to do but no longer practice. It could be a vice (like smoking) or maybe talking to a certain person or some other general habit that you once practiced.
Title the poem: “Reasons why I stopped…….” (fill in your blank)and create a list poem of why your habit has changed. Extra points if you never mention what the habit is in the entire piece.
Chasing Rabbits 
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