Poet

Your Cave

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

I move the stones,
one by one,
to build this place.

Dark,

yet safe and warm,
your cave forms
in my hands.

I place you there,
whisper soft words
to soothe,
tell stories
to comfort.

I know you can’t hear me,
but I hope
somehow
you understand.

I watch the fire dissolve,
and touch the ashes
with trembled fingers.

On the wall,
I draw your image

with sooted hands,

so anyone
who comes knocking
sees the face of beauty
that resides within.

I leave you there,
safe and warm and protected
inside my memory.

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

The Third Time

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

The third time you came back,

I took you to my bedroom
and let you watch me undress.

I never let you touch me.

You slept beside my naked body
for six hours in the August heat
without once caressing the fine hairs

on my thighs.

I should have known then
attachment was more than skin,
hunger not strictly animal.

I curse myself for chasing your tail

and allowing you to catch mine.
Never could rid your bitters from my blood,
scrape your salt off my tongue.

Your proximity is my conception of euphoria
and everything I know better about
pacifies in your dimpled grin.

We lay across from each other,

hoping reason will surpass compulsion,
sweat out fixation for another two hours.

Letting infatuation, appetite, and obsession
rise to the surface of spotted skin
you are not allowed to touch.

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

Storm

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

It is not
her fault.
Storms do
what storms do.

What they have
always done.

It was an
under estimation
of her power,
and a stubborn
belief man could
defy gods
that betrayed.

We know better now.

She reminded us
of our frailty,
our mortality,
as all gods must do
from time
to time.

Call it sacrifice,
call it necessary,
but don’t blame her.

Storms only do
what storms do.

“Storm” is previously published in Chasing Rabbits (2016).