Katrina Kaye

I

In front of the iron gates around my apartment,
the only shadows which move
are people passing through open doors.

II

I was in search for the peace your arms gave
like a home prematurely tornado torn from me.
I was in search of hands that mimicked your genius
and eyes like the little boy who traced my lifelines.

III

The first one swept me in a whirlwind of autumn leaves
and I spent the fall in a pantomime of satisfaction.

IV

A man and a woman
can stay warm on a November night.
A man and a woman and another woman
are the heat running out on a December morning.

V

I do not know which to prefer:
the sweet lies of a memory
or the blue eyes of the bartender.
The bed heated by his hunger
or the emptiness just after.

VI

Icicles hang abandoned
dripping in the April sun.
The shadow of a man
who healed my wounds
crossed it, to and fro.
The setting,
redeemed by the shades,
prepared me for a new spring.

VII

The thin man of my summer
preferred golden birds to shy sparrows
But that didn’t stop him
for taking two years with tender feet,
allowing a momentary blindness
by chestnut feathers.

VIII

I have always been a sucker for accents
and long fingers plucking strings;
I know, too,
that difference of enchantment and truth,
but I sometimes fall victim to enchantment.

IX

When the third blue eyed boy flew out of sight,
days after winter solstice,
I had not found the imprint of you.
I stopped retracing flight patterns.

X

I release myself in my past
reflecting on silly lovers and unreal expectations
allowing the idea of home to unravel.

You took the only home I’d ever know with you
on a September morning when the train pulled from station.

XI

When we were both 24
you rode over the state line
for a weekend visit,
but a fear pierced you,
and you fell asleep in hotel room
leaving me waiting alone at window table
watching birds perch on telephone wires.

It was the last time I heard from you.

XII

My mouth cannot hold on to bitterness
but it does not retain hope either.

XIII

Evening crept into afternoon.
I lounge in solidarity.
I no longer look for home
in the cracked shells of the past.