New Mexico

Bone Collector

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

She pieces together
a puzzle at a time.

A shard, humerus,
stretch of femur,

attempting to construct
fierce outline.

She collects broken dolls
with missing parts,

recreating what was
left to decay.

Eyes may fit better
in different sockets,

the porcelain doesn’t
always shine until

it’s cracked. She
takes her time.

Once the bones align,
the flesh can grow,

roped veins,
threaded muscles,

covering the white
of bone,

creating life,
a strength, a purpose.

With the patience
of glass, she draws

fine lips and outlines
the lashes of eyes.

Collector of dead things,
you hold the foresight

to see what could be,
once our construction

is complete.

“Bone Collector” is previously published in Bombfire Literary Magazine (2021).

Stillness

/ Katrina Kaye / 4 Comments

Katrina Kaye

I stay until the clouds
come into your eyes.
Your body too warm
to convince me it is only a shell.

Although a chill has yet
to set into bones,
a placidity envelopes
around you more securely
than my arms ever could.

It is earth shattering;
it is broken rib
sticking its shards into lungs.

If I believed in heaven,
I could accept
you fled to a better place.
If I believed in a god
I could find
comfort knowing you are
at peace.

As it is,
I know only
you’re gone.

There was a time
I wanted to name all the trees
after your kindness.
Count leaves on stretched
fingers to recollect
how many days you
showed me love.

You healed scars
strapped across my spine
and allowed blackened feet
to balance on railroad tracks.
I was invincible
in the reflection of your eyes.

Now I stand alone beside
breakable body,
my finely woven plots
riddled with holes,
drowning in stillness.

“Stillness” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, LLC in 2012.

today

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

allow eyes to rest
press palms against
closed lids and exhale

hold breath

allow silence
release time

feel the bruises on
knees and the scab

on earlobe

trace the residue of memories
that have quicksanded
through cold hands

let the mind rest
try to forgive

embrace only
the streak of now

a  bird sings and the sun
insists on the slow drag
toward tomorrow

take time
to clean hands
and cross fingers

promise better

in the
last moments
of today

“today” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2021).