Katrina Kaye
You told me once,
when you
found me
at two am
sitting cross legged
on linoleum floor,
pulling apart
sections
of an orange
to suck on the slices,
you can’t decide
which part of me
to forge
into a locket
so you can
fold yourself
inside,
held within
for always.
“Orange” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, LLC in 2012.
Katrina Kaye
You are the drops of summer
rain shimmered gold on skin.
You are the child too young
for my bitter heart,
my yellow bird,
the last bloom of August.
I knew I was in love with you
after the first time
I heard you laugh in your sleep.
Every song is a melody
shaped by your lips.
The same lips that
brush my forehead
when I curl to by side.
The same lips that shot
an arrow at my back
as I walked away. I was too
proud to turn around.
Your laugh will always be
one of my favorite things.
“Danea” is previously published in Fevers of the Mind (2021).
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.
Iron & Sulfur 
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