Wall

Katrina Kaye

It changed
slowly at
first,
a scratch,
a crumble,

then
chipped stone
fell. Then
rot grew
darker. Then
moss crept up
foundation.

I stood
back. I
could only
creep farther
away to
find a
safe spot,
to protect
myself

(I was
always so
pretty at
protecting
myself)

from the
impending
tumble
of all
we built.

“Wall” is previously published in Trouvaille Review (2022).

begin again

Katrina Kaye

start with the ocean

the wet sand
hard underfoot

the waves seeping in
soft foam sticking
to ankles as
the water pulls us

start with an
overcast day in
northern california

shirts untucked

gulls coasting
high above on a
salty chill

arms around chest
to secure warmth

start with toes
curling and uncurling
embedding small flakes of
broken down life
in the crevasses
between nail and skin

we can begin by allowing
the wind to pull us forward

instead of letting the earth
hold us back

“begin again” is previously published in Kelp Journal (2024) and the chapbook no longer water (2024).
To view or order no longer water from Echobird Press, click here.

Katrina Kaye

The clay we are molded
in will not harden. We
are not meant to last.

Even as we lay in post
coital glory, the tremble
still in my legs, the sweat
clinging to our bodies,
even now, we know
this is the end.

A moment shared, in all
its precious give and take,
touch and toss, comfort and
cross, is just a temporary
slip of the sun across sky.

Hold my body to yours, let
the sweat dry and consciousness
return to our extremities
let the sun fall on our last
day of summer. My dearest friend.

“Last Day” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2020).