Collapse

Katrina Kaye

I had a poem
on my tongue
when I closed
my eyes.

It was stolen
by sleep.

A tiny collapse
of dreams
and empires,
only grand
because of its
destruction.

“Collapse” is previously published in Rabbit for Luck (2016).

Pieces

Katrina Kaye

We forgot
how to touch.
Our bodies go
through the motion,
the repetition.

The pulse
and flex;

it is
too much.

It is
not enough.

You sleep
beside me,
only a
whisper away,
yet I can’t
remember
what your hands
feel like
on my body.

I like to
tell myself,
it is easy to
fall back into
place.
But these
pieces have
turned jagged,
misshaped,
rough to touch.

On nights
like this,
I prefer to
sleep alone.

Katrina Kaye

it has been
seven years
since last
we touched

the final
flakes of body
that remembered
are rubbed clean

i am reborn

but there is
residual substance
in the circuitry
of mind
left over, sticky, and
lingering

a clue
clinging
to cobwebs

as clean as
body may be
it is no match
for the grip
of memory

despite the
warmth of skin,
muscle, heartbeat,
breath, and blood,
there is a chill
that sinks
to bone

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