Poem

Enamored

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Kiss my cheek,
a stolen stroke.
The one on the lips,
an enticing request.

I know well the metallic
taste of boundaries.
This mouth,
often denied its hunger.

But tonight,
I am too drunk,
too enamored.
I want to give you a thimble:
memento of me.
Press it in your hand
till it marks your skin.
A subtle indentation,
a tangible reminder,
like the leather I wear
around my ankle,
of the kiss I’ve given.

We could slink into bed,
feel tongue, teeth, tickle.
Your hand on my spine,
salty sweat on navel,
thumb to hip bone.

Or we can just lay beside each other,
my arm draped across your body.
Fingertips graze jawbone,
lips skim fine hairs on shoulder.
We can pretend we are lovers.

Either way,
you will not see me in the morning.
I would like the night to be,
and although it would be sweet,
to retongue last goodbyes
and reform promises,

some revisions aren’t meant to be made.
Some words shouldn’t be taken back.

“Enamored” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014) and Connotation Press (2013).

Anymore

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

She stopped playing the cello.
She can no longer
spread her legs wide enough,
not for that long.
Can’t remember
how that melody
licked from spidery fingers,
or how the notes
sprung, then yawned loudly
across any empty room.
She can’t remember how she did it.

“Anymore” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).

After You Left

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

I hung your shadow outside my window,
so hopefully you would come to retrieve it.

I was always more your Wendy
than your mermaid.

My scales never stuck to your skin
and my name easily escaped your mind,
leaving me to wonder
if you ever really knew me.

I gave you my thimble too soon,
a clever kiss and nothing more,
too eager for the fondness of a new boy.

I was more your Wendy than your fairy friend.
My hands too soft for metal work,
my body too large for just one emotion.

But you,
you were always my Peter.
Cock-sure, congratulating your cleverness,
miss minded and forgetful

Your attentions waver,
but your affection your loyalty
was as stubborn as a child’s lower lip.

You stayed up all night in front of my door
hand on your dagger, spark in your eye
knowing from the curl of smoke
mischief was about.

But I never asked you to fight my battles.
You never had to win me;
I was always yours.

After all, it was the kiss
you left on my chest that saved my life.

I want to be your fierce friend,
your clever cousin,
dance with you on high rocks,
without fear of falling.

Listen to your first laugh
like a child watching soap bubbles pop.

Let that laugh linger
on your breath for eternity,
even if it means leaving you
to your own adventures.

Too many years have passed.
You have forgotten me.
Left me sitting beside
a window in my new dress.

And I,
I have forgotten how to fly.

I became a woman
two days before every other girl.
I no longer listen for your crow.
You have become nothing
more than dust on old toys.
I grew up despite my childish promises.

This woman’s voice no longer knows
how to speak to such a boy.

But I’ll still think of you
in that place between sleeping and awake,
where we still remember dreaming.

Your shadow waits upon window sill.

Come,
reclaim it,

before returning to
your wandering island,
trailing
my childhood
and best intentions
in a shimmering wake.

“After You Left” is previously published in Leaves of Ink (2013), They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore (2011), and September (2014).

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