Katrina Kaye
I will not cage
the bluebird you think
you are.
I will not follow
feathers to find
the path of your flight.
I do not seek ownership.
I leave food out
in the September night;
it doesn’t matter if
it remains untouched;
it doesn’t matter if
it is devoured.
“Cage” is previously published in September (2014).
Katrina Kaye
A lighthouse does not shine every day,
only when the fog is thick
and the storm is rough;
once the waves subside, it returns
dormant and dark.
I regret not having this knowledge
the night you stumbled upon my shore.
I realize now how one can leave their home,
yet always keep it with them.
I have learned one can fall madly in love,
yet still keep precious places sacred
for those most dear.
We have become only each other,
like children before the war,
offering momentary reprieve,
then release. The remembrance of a precious home
created in the cup of childhood.
This is how it was suppose to be.
We were not molded for the
hardship of daily existence,
we were created for relief,
for a relapse of innocence,
the comfort of old friends and first loves.
“Ever After” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).
Katrina Kaye
She turns,
belly to porcelain,
white to white.
The bath water turns cold.
She hears him playing.
The gentle rhythm
of childish laughter,
echoing down the hall.
She shivers.
Her eyes turn inward.
With slippery fingers,
she grasps the side of the tub,
and sinks under water,
but still she can hear him.
Only an apparition come
to tease a lonely woman.
She never wanted much
other than to hear the sound
of her boy’s laughter.
Her hair halos her face
in a cloud of chestnut.
Just a sliver of nose and lips,
resting on the surface.
She sips in humid air.
The laughter evaporates.
Eyes open underwater,
The world is blurred.
The sounds of childhood
faded.
“Bath water” is previously published in A Scattering of Imperfections (2009).
Chasing Rabbits 
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