Three Days

Katrina Kaye

Allow body release
from the weight
of the last few months.

Insides crave to be carved
free from that which binds.

Feel skin loosen.
Bone peak through
what dares remain.

Tonight, the sunset serves witness
to this request. Not for rebirth,
not for pledging anew,
but as a break to the mold.

Three days is all that is needed
to take the thickness of torso,
grounding of muscle, and shake loose.

Allow healing,

even if not complete,
even if only to prepare
for the next cut.

Break unconscious acts while
there is still time for forgiveness.

In three days, the body will refresh,
like creek water on sunny morning,
like the sound of screen door swaying open.

In three days,
the patterns will break.

May new ones form in their wake.

“Three Days” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2020) and “no longer water” (2024).

After the Funeral

Katrina Kaye

The enormity of death can be too much
at times; the finality of it, too overwhelming,

so instead of contemplating prayers or words
of solace, the void is filed with the ordinary.

How important these sweet rituals,
these sweet, sweet rituals of routine
that once seemed so meaningless,

but now hold the only kind of salvation
that can comfort.

Tomorrow we can talk of heaven.
The day after, discuss the roles of

death and then

the philosophy of a life well lived.

At some point we can talk about
dinner plans and the obligations
of the weekend, at some point we must

be able to compose a way through all those

things left behind, but for now let there be
silence. but for now, we can remain together,

hands close, but not yet touching, learning
to form words as if for the first time.

“After the Funeral” is previously published in Amazine (2025) and the Literary Underground (2025).

Katrina Kaye

don’t we?
We have a choice in the matter.

We can allow the ordinary the gift of extra
on days when our hearts are a little lighter,

when the sun glitters in our hair
and the wind brings gifts to our doorstep.

There is a battle between belief and logic,
magic and reason, and it is up to each of us
to choose a side.

Whether it be a butterfly upon tombstone,
the shedding of a snake’s skin,

or the playful curses
that come when lead fills our veins
and fire burns through a life’s work,

magic, if we choose it, is ours.