Imprint

Katrina Kaye

My body is tight in
the stillness of dawn.
I long to touch toes,
to have purpose in my reach.

I can feel your imprint
in the bed beside me,
and I know it is probably
the craze of mourning but
I swear I heard you in the
next room.

I do not open my eyes.
I refuse to look for you
and allow the knowledge of
your absence.

I prefer this gentle
hallucination. The shift
of muscles in
early morning to bind me
inside the comfort of yesterday.

“Imprint” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2020).

Rosemary

Katrina Kaye

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember.

remember me

when you least
expect it

in the scent
of rosemary

and
the red of eyelids
closed
to the sun

and I will
remember you

scrawled
in cursive on
forearm

in the
tender spot
where the sun
never reaches

isn’t that
what we all
want?

the best parts
of us
to stay alive

in the hearts of
those we love

our words
remembered

hummed like
lullaby

tasted like
salvation

“Rosemary” is previously published in The Green Shoe Sanctuary (2022).

Katrina Kaye

You prefer to listen to my soundtrack:

my sigh at your touch,
the chords of gasp curse moan prayer,
the rhythm of my laughter.

The pulse of your lips on bare shoulder
sends a harmony throughout my body.

I continue to interlace my notes with yours,
eager to wrap my coda around you,
hold you tight inside this melody of morning.

I purr for you,
a vibration between skin and bone.
The treble of your embrace hums
inside the length of my octave.

It’s a tempo in my shoulder blades,
the meter in a Monday morning
and a half night’s sleep,
residing in the throat of me.

I hold my song still,
take my heart off my tongue
and put it in the drawer by my bed.

The cadence of our time together
is still rattling against exposed skin,
though your lips sing static.

You embedded a beat inside me
and left your refrain to reverberate
between spine and sternum,
long after the music died.

“Soundtrack” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories like that Anymore (2011).