Guarascio

Preservation

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

Left to myself,

I sink,

and allow eyes to close.

To be

still,

stone,

ever vigilant.

Left to myself,
I will cease to exist
long before death
has the nerve to
visit my doorstep.

But I resist decay
by statuing
against chaos.
I close lips,
but keep eyes peeled.

I listen,

listen,

listen.

I am not
unchanging.
I rattle

back and

forth.

Left to myself,
I will fade
long before the sun
can bleach my bones.

So I protect the beat
of my heart and

feel each
breath fill

the empty cavern
of my being.

I preserve myself.

Hibernation
is not always
about rest;
it is about

 survival.

The only way
to make it to
the next season
is to let this one pass.

Unfinished

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

there is a trench
dug against my navel

running between breasts
concaves into clavicle

a ravine
through the center of me

this is where
I need to be filled

it doesn’t matter
if it is love that floods the chasm

or pebbles of hope piled
one upon the other

it doesn’t matter if it is a spell
to resurrect the dead,

or songs which conjure oceans
and summon the sun

it could be a list unfinished
a graveyard left to wander

a coda stuck in
my head all morning

the sweetness of sunrise
kaleidoscopes before my eyes

a display against
bare ceiling

it could be anything that is pure
simple and peaceful

it only needs to complete me
fill me, make me whole

but these sentiments are fleeting
and haven’t filled the hollow

I remain gutted
with little hope of being finished

Three Days

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Allow body release
from the weight
of the last few months.

Insides crave to be carved
free from that which binds.

Feel skin loosen.
Bone peak through
what dares remain.

Tonight, the sunset serves witness
to this request. Not for rebirth,
not for pledging anew,
but as a break to the mold.

Three days is all that is needed
to take the thickness of torso,
grounding of muscle, and shake loose.

Allow healing,

even if not complete,
even if only to prepare
for the next cut.

Break unconscious acts while
there is still time for forgiveness.

In three days, the body will refresh,
like creek water on sunny morning,
like the sound of screen door swaying open.

In three days,
the patterns will break.

May new ones form in their wake.

“Three Days” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2020) and “no longer water” (2024).