New Mexico

The Pier

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

You can see where the old pier
used to be, hundreds of water
warped posts standing at attention
in the shallow water. You can see

how low the tide has receded. They are
lost souls, blackened by time and hard
water, seething salt from tattered torsos.
They watch the beach as if they remembered

the feel of sand between their toes but
they have sulked too long, become one with
the rippling patterns. Strangers forever
separated by five distinctive feet.

“The Pier” is previously published in Chasing Rabbits (2012).

After He Left

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

They said
I would start
hearing things:

the heater
click-click-clicking
on and off,

cars driving by
at all hours,
the tap, tap, taping of
the dog’s toe nails
on the kitchen floor,

a phone call
at two am,
the crash of the ice
from the freezer,
the rattle of wind
knock-knock-knocking
at the front door.

They said
I would hear
remnants of
our life together
in the morning news,

the creak-creak-creaking
of sunken
floorboards,
in the way the
blankets rustle
to the floor,

and the way water
drip-drip-drips
from faucet.

But I don’t
hear anything,
only silence.

Nothing but
silence.

“After He Left” is previously published in Door is a Jar (2023).

 

Forever

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

The lies have always
come easy. A candy coated
vibration between tongue and tooth.

But the promise of forever
sparse slips between lips;

sweet slander,
rarely invoked.

That truth came early and often,
at least to anyone paying attention
to the shift of sun across sky,

the bloom of flower toward dawn,
or the ceaseless shedding of skin cells.

The flux of uncertainty,
measured only by the assurance of change
leaves hands grasping for stone monuments
and brick buildings, as if holding on to
a hardier composition can create a sense
of stability.

As though one may convince
themselves there is no impermanence at all,

but we have all witnessed
the easy break and eventual mend of bone.
We have regularly watched the shift of clouds
constructing and destructing across sky.

I have never been one to count
my syllables, or consider the validity of each
statement that cusses from mouth,

but forever is one lie
I will forever
resist.

“Forever” is previously published on Saturday’s Sirens (2023).