Iron and Sulfur

Kate once told me

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

every poem begins
as a suicide note.
And a
well rehearsed
death
is always
winkled inside mind,

soaking there,
dripping stalagmites,
building blocks of
the subconscious.

Counting ticks
to midnight;
the story
so close
to conclusion.

Loneliness,

like rock candy
crystallizing on
popsicle sticks,
attaches to rib cage,

expands and compresses
with each
shallow breath.

I don’t have fear.

Sometimes the
only thing
that gets me through
is knowing

at any minute
I can stop it all.
I can rock and roll
out of this human suit,
shed soft covering,

reveal bare bone,
and empty cavern.
The sliver of power
over my life;

it is everything and
it is nothing.

“Kate once told me” is previously published in No Longer Water (2023).

Reclaim

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

begin with
a soft kiss,
the kind
you know
he likes.
linger there
let him know
there is
no hurry.
there is
no where
either
of you
need to be,
not now,
not yet.
when he
attempts
to continue
watching the
morning news,
creep up
beside him,
purr like the
insistent feline
you are,
kneed his
thighs with
long fingers,
block his view.
when he
suddenly
grabs you
and twists
your body
across his,
let him.
let him
touch.
let him
explore.
know at
this point,
you have
won.

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

Fall

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

It is important
to know
how to fall.

The ability to
stitch a net out
of eyelash and
torn paperback,

to catch,
to survive,
to go on,

is more vital
than perching
impassive on
mountain peak

or slumbering
in the shade
of pine tree.

It is important
to know how
fast the world
is set to change.

and yet recognize
all the ways it stays
the same.

One man’s action
is limited to the
reach of his arm.
His fall,

only a tragedy
to those who
stood by and

could not help.
Only a tragedy
to those who did
not see him

rise again.

“Fall” is previously published on Spillwords (2023)