Katrina Kaye
I fall
with the weight
of absent arms;
paralyzed
in bleached sand,
praying to
feel secure
hands again.
It has been
oceans since
we last touched
but you are
never more
than a breast
stroke away.
And, as we
meet on the
crest of white
cap, I wait
for tides
to change,
for current
or wave
to prevent
my return
into you.
“Breast Stroke” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, LLC in 2012.
Katrina Kaye
I am not formed in clay,
malleable to your touch.
You attempt to carve a statue,
a lover, you receive only ash.
I am not the idea you hold of me.
If we were close enough to touch
you would know my scales,
feel the goose flesh prickle your palm,
taste the burn on ready tongue.
I am not the stone set to sculpt;
the moment you hoped to freeze.
I soured, mildewed, rotted in the rain
and warped in the afternoon heat.
The thin paradise you formed
for us is mud never kilned.
It yields under thumbs.
Migratory wings stretch in foreign ways.
How can you say you love the arch of my neck,
when you’ve yet to see it sway loose against collar bone?
When I only now raise my head to
yield against curved grin?
Despite the lines around
my eyes, I have never
been looking for anything
or anyone.
Despite the nails
pierced through my feet,
I only want to soar
untethered.
“Untethered” is previously published in September (2014).
Katrina Kaye
She swims inside fingerprints,
an idea so distinctly you.
A mirage reflected between hot streets
and flattering moonlight.
She is the dancer in my wooden box,
guardian of secrets
whispering her own;
her spin,
seemingly innocent.
I would be lying if I didn’t say
you haunt me from her eyes.
A memory of water in my desert.
Just an illusion of your fingers
tracing the life line in right palm.
She blends ribbons of perfume through the air
and insists she invented this for our pleasure,
but we both know better.
“Daughter” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).
Chasing Rabbits 
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