Stillness

Katrina Kaye

I stay until the clouds
come into your eyes.
Your body too warm
to convince me it is only a shell.

Although a chill has yet
to set into bones,
a placidity envelopes
around you more securely
than my arms ever could.

It is earth shattering;
it is broken rib
sticking its shards into lungs.

If I believed in heaven,
I could accept
you fled to a better place.
If I believed in a god
I could find
comfort knowing you are
at peace.

As it is,
I know only
you’re gone.

There was a time
I wanted to name all the trees
after your kindness.
Count leaves on stretched
fingers to recollect
how many days you
showed me love.

You healed scars
strapped across my spine
and allowed blackened feet
to balance on railroad tracks.
I was invincible
in the reflection of your eyes.

Now I stand alone beside
breakable body,
my finely woven plots
riddled with holes,
drowning in stillness.

“Stillness” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, LLC in 2012.

Dust

Katrina Kaye

I hold
your cheek
in paper
thin hands.

Skin like
baby powder
folds onto
itself.
So fragile
I fear you will
disintegrate
under my touch.

You warm
my fingers
with whispered
rosaries and
reassurances.
I comfort
and am comforted
in the same
exhalation.

Neither of us
knew
it would be
my skin to fall
first to dust.

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

Continuance

Katrina Kaye

You didn’t leave a note, but
two days before you killed
yourself you gave me your
grandmother’s watch, told me
you never wore the dented heirloom
and it didn’t fit your slim wrists,
said, it would look better on me.

When I pointed out that it no
longer worked, you shrugged and
said simply, “time is a silly thing.”

You looked in the mirror
before you did it. You cut
off all your hair in misshapen
awkward chunks, some spots
clean to your scalp. Your mother
decided on the closed casket.

At your funeral, I stand
consumed by the list of things I
didn’t know, overwhelmed
by the uselessness of words and the
futility of remorse, devastated by
the continuance of the ordinary.

“Continuance” is previously published in To Anyone Who Ever Loved a Writer (2014) and Fevers of the Mind (2021).