Katrina

Broken

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Our conversation
dried;

our time
over.
It’s not your
fault.

We never
had a chance.

You left,
emptied shelves
and dresser drawers.
All I can think
is my grandfather will never
dance with me at my wedding.

My heart is broken
broken,
broken.
My body mourning.

All it is
all of this is
a boneyard
I can’t bury.

I’ve always had trouble
with the scraps,
always found it
impossible to let go.

And now,
at 10:30 on a Tuesday night
I am more empty,
more alone
than I can ever remember.

All I want is for
my mind to rest,
my body to resign.

This is not a holy time.
There is nothing sacred
in this prayer.

Dear child of my heart,
dear landmine,
how does one rectify absence
when the only thing left is
alone
aloneness
lone ness
lonely
ness

and I am
drip
drip
dripping
on white pages again.

Metaphors are the same
as curse words are the same
as damn I miss you
is the same as damn
I miss myself is the same
as damn
damn

I miss you.

“Broken” is previously published on Saturday’s Sirens (2020).

I wonder about you

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

in this picture
you’re still a girl
spotted by the sun

side of the highway
halfway
between city and border
you insisted I
take your picture
in front of the sign
for highway 666

your grin too angelic
blonde hair catching every ray of light
as it tangled with the dirt of the road

you were a child then
your skin was never supposed
to blister that way

funny how time
used to stand still for us

we never questioned
where we were going
maybe if we had
I would know where
to find you

sun burnt ballerina,
we were too busy
sucking down strawberry
milkshakes at truck stops
and counting the
number of red cars
to worry about where our road went

I wonder if your skin paled
to its natural milk
after the summer sun slid away
I wonder if your hair
is darker now
that you don’t
have the reflection
of the road to lighten it

“I wonder about you” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, ( 2012) and Eclectica Magazine (2022).

Remembrance

/ Katrina Kaye / 2 Comments

Katrina Kaye

We are not strangers.
This musk of rotting page and after-shave,

I know this.

I could trace on blank canvas
with well trained fingers,
the curve of hair against cheekbones.

These grooves and gutters
are not foreign.

They are part of the past,
every bit of who we are.

I know your face
like the lines in my own reflection.
I know your eyes
like the freckles on my palm.

Duality lingers
in our sway,
our remembrance.

We are not strangers.

“Remembrance” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).