Katrina Kaye

I dig for you,
not easy to find
but you are there.

I dress in you,
not as warm as I remember.
Your scent changed.

No longer the person I knew,
but you, nonetheless,

and it is enough.

I recognize the
rough of jawline,
the tenderness in
the touch of hands

a piece of you
pacifies the savior
I could not be.

I cannot unearth you.

A little soap and water
rinses dirt from body.

Yet, I continue to
create burrows

digging for all
I cannot
leave buried.

“Dig” is previously published in Mollyhouse (2022).


Katrina Kaye

allow eyes to rest
press palms against
closed lids and exhale

hold breath

allow silence
release time

feel the bruises on
knees and the scab

on earlobe

trace the residue of memories
that have quicksanded
through cold hands

let the mind rest
try to forgive

embrace only
the streak of now

a  bird sings and the sun
insists on the slow drag
toward tomorrow

take time
to clean hands
and cross fingers

promise better

in the
last moments
of today

“today” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2021).


Katrina Kaye

“Those who have been told the truth
should not be taken for those
who have been scorned.”

The first time I liked
the sound of my name
it fell from your crooked lips.

Seemingly foreign,
yet easily interwoven into
ringlets framing my perception.

You speak each syllable sunshine
mixed with the awkwardness of the moon,
reflecting brilliance no matter the cadence.

For a fleeting moment,
in the melody of the occasion,
I too am fooled.

I see myself birthed from clam shell,
goddess gripping bow and arrow,
my words woven into golden strings.

You tricked me.
It isn’t just your sycophantic words
and slips of tongue.

It is in the way I see my reflection,
the shine of myself mirrored in your clouded eyes,
a strange smile readily returned.

The name you give me,
a gift,
more beautiful than I can ever be.

“Dulcinea” is previously published in Fevers of the Mind (2021).