Migration

Katrina Kaye

The sun aches,
an orange jewel in violet.
We share too many mornings
in silence. All our words
migrate.

The sparrows fled
late this year.

They found it easy
to sleep among windowpanes,
rest in late afternoon sun.
Far too easy to fall from
treetops, when their
time has come.

I grew old
with the ebb of summer,
but my little girl’s smile,
a yellow butterfly,
bright and tender,
shimmered in dawn’s mist.

Fluttering against the blue,
life rustles beside
drying leaves on wilted vines.
There is something so free
about a flirting bird following
its kin as the seasons change.
I caress her flushed cheeks
with hands spotted by time.
These lined lips can not
match her vibrant grin.

It’s time to follow
the sparrows, and leave her
to the fall.

“Migration” is previously published in Trailing Sparrows (2014).

Reminiscence

Katrina Kaye

As the unsullied sun
peaks over the Sandias,
I recall the mornings
after your nightshift
when you would slip
into my room.

Your movements, slow
and silent, intent on letting
me sleep for that final hour,
but my eyes moved behind
closed lids, searching for you.

You undressed like a ghost and
crept in next to me,
still smelling of bar food,
cigarettes, cleaning solution,
a life I left behind.

It was only a twin bed
but somehow we fit.
We held each other,
my hand to your heart,
head tucked under your chin,
breathing slow and deep,
trying to create a lifetime
in less than an hour.

Sometimes,
I still think about you.

“Reminiscence” is previously published in A Scattering of Imperfections (2009).

backdrop

Katrina Kaye

I am the sound of
flapping wings
when no birds
are seen.

I am backdrop,
waiting in alcove
for a cue that has
never come.

I am a walk on,
a sideways glance,
a choked confession
moments too late.

Was there ever
a time I wasn’t
easily forgotten?

I can’t help
but to beg to
scar this world
in the worse
possible way
just to leave
noticeable
footprints.

“backdrop” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).