Poetry

Kate once told me

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

every poem begins
as a suicide note.
And a
well rehearsed
death
is always
winkled inside mind,

soaking there,
dripping stalagmites,
building blocks of
the subconscious.

Counting ticks
to midnight;
the story
so close
to conclusion.

Loneliness,

like rock candy
crystallizing on
popsicle sticks,
attaches to rib cage,

expands and compresses
with each
shallow breath.

I don’t have fear.

Sometimes the
only thing
that gets me through
is knowing

at any minute
I can stop it all.
I can rock and roll
out of this human suit,
shed soft covering,

reveal bare bone,
and empty cavern.
The sliver of power
over my life;

it is everything and
it is nothing.

“Kate once told me” is previously published in No Longer Water (2023).

Reminiscence

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

As the unsullied sun
peaks over the Sandias,
I recall the mornings
after your nightshift
when you would slip
into my room.

Your movements, slow
and silent, intent on letting
me sleep for that final hour,
but my eyes moved behind
closed lids, searching for you.

You undressed like a ghost and
crept in next to me,
still smelling of bar food,
cigarettes, cleaning solution,
a life I left behind.

It was only a twin bed
but somehow we fit.
We held each other,
my hand to your heart,
head tucked under your chin,
breathing slow and deep,
trying to create a lifetime
in less than an hour.

Sometimes,
I still think about you.

“Reminiscence” is previously published in A Scattering of Imperfections (2009).

Again

/ Katrina Kaye / 3 Comments

Katrina Kaye

kill darlings

again;
hang them by the neck,
swing

from old oak in evening breeze.

leave them
out to dry,

skin stretch against rocks
reflect sun’s heat as they bleach to leather.

split silence with their scream.

It is the only way to wash clean.

“Again” is previously published in Chasing Rabbits (2016).