Katrina Kaye
I thought I
was ready for
the collision of
tooth to chest,
so I waited
for bullet
to light up sky.
I remained
patient for barrage
to shatter my
faith in you.
I apologize
for letting you gut
me in the fashion
of an animal.
I am left with a scar
dug into flesh.
A badge flashing from
right shoulder,
which you ignore
every time you
brush past.
“Badge” is previously published in September (2014).
Katrina Kaye
The day you
asked me
to marry you,
I should
have broke
in two,
snapped twig,
the froth
on the mouth
of dead dog.
You were
the only
door frame left
standing amid
the rubble.
I should have
stretched out inside
the safety
you gifted me.
I should have
given you the
answer that would
mend the earth,
rebuild buildings,
stack bricks,
unscorch broken glass.
I should have
said yes.
Instead,
I sent ripples
vibrating
through ground.
I toppled trees,
kicked fire hydrants,
released panicked dogs
to the streets.
I should have given
you one perfect day.
Instead, I left the
ground to quake.
“Earthquake” is previously published in To Anyone Who Has Ever Loved a Writer (2014).
Katrina Kaye
I memorized your smile
so I can find it every
time I close my eyes to dream.
The wrinkle of lip,
scar of dimple, crack of tooth.
They are with me still.
I memorized the angle of cheekbone,
every cut of skin stretched,
the soft roll of forehead.
I counted each crease embedded.
Every freckle and discoloration,
the squint of eyes and the way
they shine my reflection.
I know these parts in your absence.
I conjure them still
on the nights when my desire
to be a good woman is broken
by the solitude of my cavity;
on nights when I close my eyes,
and let you enter my mind.
Little girls are not supposed to fall in love
with little girls and despite self taught ambivalence,
your memory lingers. I find myself a scratch
on record, set to repeat. to repeat. to repeat. to repeat.
“Memory” is previously published in #TrueStory 2015.
Chasing Rabbits 
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