Katrina Kaye
Despite the change of pressure in my lungs,
I continue to feel you breathing my air.
We are linked.
You spent too many summers clinging to
the folds of bed skirts to believe your
disappearance is more than mere migration.
The best days of winter are spent in
preparation for the return of spring.
We are well practiced at letting each other go.
We have done it so many times.
Katrina Kaye
Concave and collapse your elements,
readjust the weight balanced between heels,
stand with feet planted firmly,
chin expanded toward the wind.
The sun is rising for you.
Don’t think for one moment these clouds
don’t know your name.
I told them to be expecting you.
They will bring you honeyed tea
and tie the hair from your eyes
if you let them.
Hidden in your layers of flesh and brass
beats a voice screaming sticky syrup.
Let it be heard.
If you need me,
reach with outstretched palm.
I will cross it with silver threads,
best wishes,
hard candy,
good intentions.
I told spring you would be coming,
she already knows the flecked gold in your irises,
and just how to shimmer into them.
The summer sun is eager to meet you.
Introduce yourself.
Let her lighten your hair
with tales of summer.
Soon your hands will no longer reach for me,
but I’m with you and always will be.
“Try” is previously published in September (2014).
Katrina Kaye
In search of
my purpose,
I wander the house.
As though spying
on a discarded lover,
I peek the sunset
around the curtains:
the glimpse of
lavender and orange hues
reflect off the bottom
of untouched clouds.
I forget what I am looking for.
Instead of continuing
a search, I sit still and
enjoy a deep breath,
precious and deliberate,
unlike so many
I take for granted.
“A Short Ode to Breath” is previously published in New Croton Review (2025).
Chasing Rabbits 
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