Katrina Kaye
We forgot
how to touch.
Our bodies go
through the motion,
the repetition.
The pulse
and flex;
it is
too much.
It is
not enough.
You sleep
beside me,
only a
whisper away,
yet I can’t
remember
what your hands
feel like
on my body.
I like to
tell myself,
it is easy to
fall back into
place.
But these
pieces have
turned jagged,
misshaped,
rough to touch.
On nights
like this,
I prefer to
sleep alone.
Katrina Kaye
The knives she gave me
are perfect for slicing
strawberries at 10:24 pm
on a Thursday.
Almost too easy,
the way the fruit falls apart.
I miss her then.
Miss her sweetness
on tart tongue,
miss the way she told me
of true love
over and over by
counting my vertebrae
on slick fingers,
ticking off time.
There are too many knives
left behind.
More than half still wrapped
in cardboard and plastic,
held together with thin rubber bands.
The others stained with the juice
of fruit already sliced.
“Knives” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).
What is something you used to do but no longer practice. It could be a vice (like smoking) or maybe talking to a certain person or some other general habit that you once practiced.
Title the poem: “Reasons why I stopped…….” (fill in your blank)and create a list poem of why your habit has changed. Extra points if you never mention what the habit is in the entire piece.
Chasing Rabbits 
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