Katrina Kaye
left to
the wind
of autumn
her hair
turns
white,
grows long
unruly
pays no
mind to the
twist of
time,
the thorns
threaten
the bells
which no
longer chime
and yet
there is
still so
much music
“Crone” is previously published in Spillwords (2021).
Katrina Kaye
Our hunger was
never so animal
as it was on
the Cold Moon,
never so bloody
as the first
of the month.
We salivated;
the slick of the bone,
the cut of tooth
on tenderloin.
Counted pulse beats
and tick of time,
dripped words
like weapons.
In a hurry,
panting and
pacing, a dog,
not of war,
but of conquest,
of revolution.
By winter we
didn’t have enough
meat on our bones
to gnaw against our gums.
We never really
learned how
to survive
off of more than
each other,
to scavenge feathers
falling soundless,
the ruffle of the lost.
It was our isolation
that buried white teeth
deep in the earth.
“Wild” is previously published in Marrow Magazine (2022) and Weasel Press (2022).
Katrina Kaye
I am mule.
My bay, an obnoxious yap
from graying muzzle,
as I move from
under master’s whip.
My velvet ears twitch
with distrust for the acts of man.
I will not be owned
and have grown impatient
with the repeated acts of
those who claim to know what’s best,
so I become obstinate
with mud to my knees
rebelling by standing still,
immovable in open
stall despite the whistle on the wind.
I want only a gentle hand, but deny
those offered me as though
their compassion was insult or pity.
No longer do I hold desire to plough forward,
but I long to preserve the moments
as they are gifted, one sunset, one thoughtful word,
one cube of sugar, one kindness at a time.
Hopefully, this perseverance
will lead me to dry pastures where only
the occasion fly distracts from
solitude and peace.
“Mule” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2022).
Chasing Rabbits 
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