Sun

Katrina Kaye

Your world is absent of light.
Dust reflected in rare brightness
only to disappear behind western vista.

Enveloped in gloom,
you watch from thick shadows
the world succumbing to the dim,
you fade in the dusk.

If I promise to follow you into the night,
take your path away from the sun
and wrap myself in your darkness,

will you sit beside me,
fingers interlaced with my own,
and watch the sun rise?

“Sun” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore (2011).

this bird

Katrina Kaye

never learned to nest

allows feathers to fall
without a thought to
where they may land

I too
am often on the wing

telling stories of lives
I could never take apart

this bird breaks to pieces
part of the puzzle that
wedged creation together

this birdsong

sweet as time

reaches

never touches

where should I hide
if not into myself

“this bird” is previously published on the Weekly Write (2020) and Saturday Salon (2020).

Katrina Kaye

The first time,

I held death in the salt water of lung
hopeful to be pulled on raft and have
air pressed into chest.

The second time, I pushed
under the water.

I let go knowing full well there was
no point in waiting for a kind hand.

I will not give anyone the
the satisfaction to mourn my death,

not when I can still
keep head above water.

I may have been made
a fool for carrying crosses,
but I earned them.

They keep me afloat.

and these storms leave
such peace in their wake.

“Lifeboat” is previously published in Chasing Rabbits (2012).