Katrina Kaye
I freeze
without you.
The towers
I place
around me
are set
on fire,
but they can
not keep
me warm.
I reach
for you,
not as easy
to find
as I hoped,
not quite
where I
thought you
would be.
In your
absence,
I lay
a slice
of memory
on my chest,
over flesh,
not as tender
as I remember,
not as much
a second skin,
yet
somehow
the shiver
is pacified.
“Cold” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).
Katrina Kaye
Forgive the light from streetlamp that sinks
into the wet streets on Tuesday morning.
Forgive the words that are shared,
smeared, are cut up and divided out.
Forgive how clumsy your smile caught me
how fingers and shadows make excellent shows against cave wall.
Forgive the cave, the loneliness of it
and the isolation, the cruelty.
Don’t abandon my memory upon the rocks and
leave it for the dogs to dig up.
Forgive.
It is the only way to
find your way back.
It is the only way to learn better,
to see better, to love better, to be better.
I watch the rain and remember once believing
birds couldn’t fly when wet.
I know better now.
Katrina Kaye
As the unsullied sun
peaks over the Sandias,
I recall the mornings
after your nightshift
when you would slip
into my room.
Your movements, slow
and silent, intent on letting
me sleep for that final hour,
but my eyes moved behind
closed lids, searching for you.
You undressed like a ghost and
crept in next to me,
still smelling of bar food,
cigarettes, cleaning solution,
a life I left behind.
It was only a twin bed
but somehow we fit.
We held each other,
my hand to your heart,
head tucked under your chin,
breathing slow and deep,
trying to create a lifetime
in less than an hour.
Sometimes,
I still think about you.
“Reminiscence” is previously published in A Scattering of Imperfections (2009).
Chasing Rabbits 
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