Empty

Katrina Kaye

There is a crack inside me

impossible to see         with the naked eye
because it is covered               with flesh and bone,

muscle and vein,

but underneath
all the intricacies         that have made up
this form there is         a vacant space,

a hollow.

There was a time                     I rushed to fill it
to store
people and places        and simple memories.

There was a time         when the emptiness terrified me.

People should not have                       holes.
Are we not made

            of solid stuff?

But I have made peace           with the void within.

I am no longer             afraid of the echo
of my voice.
I no longer                   seek to be filled.

Instead I sit quiet        and cross legged

feeling the shelter

that comes

from nothingness.

Within that hollow,

I can allow      my eyes           to close

and my pulse                           to slow.
I can breathe deep and be;

exist,                continue.

I can find                                peace.
I am not

limited by                    my body

or the emptiness it holds.

“Empty” is previously published in Metonym Journal (2024).

Transformation

Katrina Kaye

unlike clouds and the ripples of river currents
we still resemble our former identities
long after we have transformed into something else

sometimes the shift is so slow
we don’t even realize the change until long after it occurs

nature is much more abrupt in the turning of season
the molding of weather patterns and swings of daylight
she doesn’t always have that much patience and
what she does have she saves for mountain ranges

we are somewhere between the rock and the raindrop
realizing our transformation only in retrospection

“Transformation” is previously published in Amazine (2025).

Available Now – September 22, 2026

Click Here to Order All It Is

Belly

Katrina Kaye

I am lying still and holding my belly in my hands. I am trying to hold myself together by holding myself. I am trying to catch myself before I fall over and my insides fall to the ground. I hold myself together by holding myself.

My belly is soft and round, swollen with indecision and promises yet to be fulfilled. I am unable to feel the warmth I know is inside me. I am unable to touch, but I can hold, so I hold.

I hold myself together with hands that are too swollen to grasp, knotted with arthritis, useless to do anything but hold. My breath comes in long, drawn movements. No sudden changes. There is no storm over this ocean, only the roll of steady wave.

It would be so easy for the tide to pull me apart. To separate limbs, spread fingers, pluck each hair from body, loosen teeth from gum line. The water takes not only breath, but strength. But I can still touch my hand to belly. I can still hold myself. I can still hold myself together. I can still hold myself.

“Belly” is previously published in Shadowplay (2025).