Poet

A Poem

/ Katrina Kaye / 2 Comments

Katrina Kaye

I was dreaming about a poem,
illusive to the page,
narrow columns featuring
my fancy script and
signature phrases.

Words I am sure I
have written before
but never had the chance
to share. Words I thought
I knew by heart.

You were there too,
but not as much
the you I knew
as a picture I have
stuck in my mind.

You were sitting on the
stairs in the narrow space
between your body and ground.
With each move I took to surpass you,
you lowered yourself more
until you were over me,
and despite the rain,
and the hood over your head,
I knew you and smiled
at clandestine luck.

I kissed you, full mouth,
wondering if anyone would notice
the static spark from my lips
to yours.

I thought I would remember the poem.
I thought I would be able to write it
upon waking but it slipped away from me
like so many cursed words and key phrases,
like memories I forgot to write down,
like walking passed a possible lover.

“A Poem” is previously published in Spillwords (2022).

Blackbird

/ Katrina Kaye / 1 Comment

Katrina Kaye

we wanted wings
for the fine weather

but it’s much
colder

one hundred feet
in the air

we did not
anticipate the chill

so we flew rapid
trying to chase

body heat
back into our veins

into our hearts
beating blackened wings

through the memory
of awkward shaped clouds

which lack the reprieve
of heaven

“Blackbird” is previously published in To Anyone Who Has Ever Loved a Writer (2014).

Beating Heart Cadaver

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

I wish I could warm my feet on you tonight;
I wish you would take my hands in yours
and ask me why I am always so cold.

I tell you it’s not my fault.
Ropes of red under pale skin,
beating burden buried in ribbed cage,
these things lack heat.

My cold body
doesn’t deny the pump of blood,
but heart is veiled deep
and when hand curls against chest,
the cavern seems hollow.

This is life without living.
Disappointment in survival
leading to dropped eyes
and limp lips.

What’s the point of circulation
without the ability to feel sensation?
What’s the point of catching
the wind if unwinged?

Skin only prickles in the breeze.
A reflex, not a reaction.

Spiteful muscle continues convulsing.
I lack the talent to stop it
as much as the spark to ignite.

You once enveloped me completely;
concealing me safely inside cracked fingers
with a protective embrace.
You shielded me from broken glass and car crash.

Now, my back has toughened
under the beat of sun.
Fossilized casing becomes only shelter,
curdled limbs only protection.

I miss being able to stretch open,
to reach for you, to squeeze back.
I miss the way your hands made mine
seem warm and

so

very

small.

“Beating Heart Cadaver” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).