New Mexico

Are we not

/ Katrina Kaye / 2 Comments

Katrina Kaye

at times
so desperate for

meaning

we look for it
in every facet from
cloud formations
to green traffic lights

are we not
so eager for

direction

we read every passing
mile marker aloud
yet we are no longer
taught cartography
nor the reason for the craft

we have learned patience
but never told
what we are waiting for

we are told
to hold our breath
but never the reason
for ceasing to inhale

in the clouds
I see everything from
dragons to seashells
to angry faces in mid scream

some nights I drive
watching the countdown
of miles as I get closer
and closer to an unknown

destination

I hold my breath and watch
the clock to see how
much patience I have
and I question

are we not
all questioning

purpose

without any faith of finding
true answers

“Are we not” is previously published in Verse Virtal (2023).

Collection

/ Katrina Kaye / 2 Comments

Katrina Kaye

A collection of moments:

Fireflies twinkle again mountain side
near a river in North Carolina.

The heat got to me, leaving me sick
and dizzy after only two hours on the road.

Rain falling on the windshield blurring the
view of the highway. A moment of panic.

Falling asleep in a ray of sunshine that
sneaks through dingy window.

Coffee stains on white shirts, forgotten names
of relatives, pink lipstick on front teeth.

The time on the California Highway when the fog
handicapped my eyes with a sheet of white.

I thought it was the end until I saw the brake
lights pierce the mist.

Do the clouds have so much power
they can make a lazy mind time travel

to a place of yellow and orange and gold
where the sun is not kept from my skin?

A hastily written confession in
the form of a letter, never acknowledged.

Music in the morning air from a bird
who sits upon wires singing songs of gratitude.

Have I done enough to be awarded
a simple life?

“Collection” is previously published in Verse Vital (2023).

Suicide Note

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Katrina Kaye

I call him and ask him to come over.
I tell him I miss his arms around me,
say I need comfort. Tell him:

I don’t want to be alone.

It isn’t a lie, but if I am honest
I should have said:

I don’t want to die alone.

I know,

we all die alone,

I know.

I don’t tell him about the pills
rotting in my gut. I don’t mention
the poison seeping into blood stream,

but I do say tonight would be the last time.
I tell him I will never call again,

I will never ask again.

He doesn’t make me talk when
he comes into the apartment.
He lets me lace my arms around him
and just hold on,

so supported,

so secure,

my knees go soft,
but he doesn’t let me fall.

Not once, not even a little.
He never let me fall.

He follows me as I stumble into
my room and climb into bed, and
lay down. He lets me curl to his side.

We slept in this position
for a thousand years one summer.
But that was a different season.

I ask him to tell me a story. 
I listen to the drone of his voice.
I am fading. 

I tell him:

I’m sorry for being so selfish.

He says:

that’s alright.
We all need someone sometime.

I tell him to leave after I fall asleep.
He assures me, he will.
Asks me about locking the door,
but I am becoming still.

I sulk beside him
feeling the rhythm of his breath
and wait for my heart to stop.