Poem

Imprint

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

My body is tight in
the stillness of dawn.
I long to touch toes,
to have purpose in my reach.

I can feel your imprint
in the bed beside me,
and I know it is probably
the craze of mourning but
I swear I heard you in the
next room.

I do not open my eyes.
I refuse to look for you
and allow the knowledge of
your absence.

I prefer this gentle
hallucination. The shift
of muscles in
early morning to bind me
inside the comfort of yesterday.

“Imprint” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2020).

Slice of Thigh

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Your hand loitered too long
against the scar on my thigh.
A slim trench of fluttered skin
hidden in the darkness of our bed.

I felt the graze of fingertips
skulk back and forth
as you became aware
of wrinkled depression,
a gash healed over with tender tissue,
not forgotten, and never mentioned.

You stumbled upon secret slice
as sharp as emerging tooth,
as though neglected stretch of skin
remained hungry and eager
for the affection of fingers.

You, with your stubborn curiosity,
said no words, only replied
in soft caress. You lingered
over this mark as though trying
to heal it with the heat of your hand,
lending the question as to whether it is something
you love or long to erase.

“Slice of Thigh” is previously published in Open Minds Quarterly (2022).

Rosemary

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember.

remember me

when you least
expect it

in the scent
of rosemary

and
the red of eyelids
closed
to the sun

and I will
remember you

scrawled
in cursive on
forearm

in the
tender spot
where the sun
never reaches

isn’t that
what we all
want?

the best parts
of us
to stay alive

in the hearts of
those we love

our words
remembered

hummed like
lullaby

tasted like
salvation

“Rosemary” is previously published in The Green Shoe Sanctuary (2022).