August Afternoon

Katrina Kaye

We dance in
the heat of the kitchen.

Van Morrison plays lazily
from the living room,


paper thin sun dress,
void of the undergarments
that would only cause
lines of sweat in already
wrinkled skin,

catching the breeze between
bare legs;


with the grease still in
the creases of your hands,

holy jeans hanging low
on bare waist,

crooked smile plays
on parted lips;

we dance.

You would not take
no for an answer,

would not acknowledge
my casual stumble
over your bare feet,

toes somehow chilled
despite the summer heat.

We sway across kitchen
counters singing along
to every word,

hair sticking to temples,
mouth dry save for
the song on tongue.

You tell me I am
beautiful and, in that
rare delusion of August,

I believe you.

“August Afternoon” is previously published in Wingless Dreamer (2021).

Ever After

Katrina Kaye

A lighthouse does not shine every day,
only when the fog is thick
and the storm is rough;

once the waves subside, it returns
dormant and dark.

I regret not having this knowledge
the night you stumbled upon my shore.

I realize now how one can leave their home,
yet always keep it with them.
I have learned one can fall madly in love,
yet still keep precious places sacred
for those most dear.

We have become only each other,
like children before the war,
offering momentary reprieve,
then release. The remembrance of a precious home
created in the cup of childhood.

This is how it was suppose to be.
We were not molded for the
hardship of daily existence,
we were created for relief,
for a relapse of innocence,
the comfort of old friends and first loves.

“Ever After” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).

what we brought

Katrina Kaye

The moon’s calm broke,

spilling elusive shades
over the sky’s backdrop.

I remember how we hurried.
Skirted over rocks and rivers,

caught butterflies in our teeth
and squeezed grasshoppers in our toes.

It was minutes till sunrise,

when the world was at its blackest.
We were enveloped,

just the two of us,
stolen from the wake of the world.

With slippery fingers

we climbed the crevasse,
hoping arms would not give out

demanding our gasps and split fingernails
lift us just a little bit higher.

Upon the apex,
we watched rising mist
begin to sink beneath the orange glare
of a breaking sun.

It was the first time you told me
you loved me.

We sat at the edge of the world,

hanging our feet off granite ledge
and tried to touch the surreal with

impulsive fingers still flecked
with green and bits of insect.

“What we brought” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).