Katrina Kaye

We are not strangers.
This musk of rotting page and after-shave,

I know this.

I could trace on blank canvas
with well trained fingers,
the curve of hair against cheekbones.

These grooves and gutters
are not foreign.

They are part of the past,
every bit of who we are.

I know your face
like the lines in my own reflection.
I know your eyes
like the freckles on my palm.

Duality lingers
in our sway,
our remembrance.

We are not strangers.

“Remembrance” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).


Katrina Kaye

It is only from ash
that new wings can emerge.

The smug of soot
on forehead offers
the cleansing of fresh feathers,
burnt orange against blue eyes.

We are ready to ride onward,
watch the slouch
of Bethlehem’s beast
and feel the curve of shoulders
as they hover
over the clouds of
yesterday’s thunderstorm.

The flash of lightning
stuck us to dirt,
so let us flare like red bird,
let us track skies uncharted and
rip apart
dark formations that blot out sky.

Let the innards leak,
release the flood and from the muck
watch creature birthed.

A second coming
hidden by the thick
of afternoon storm clouds,
casting shadows
on the tragedy of
yesterdays too clearly

Let the past burn away,
let it pierce, cloud over, rip open.
Watch the carnage
a little a fire
can do when you stop
paying attention to the
change in temperature.

It is a only a matter of time
before wings once again open to sun.

“Phoenix” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014) by Swimming with Elephants Publications and The Legendary Issue 39,