Katrina Kaye
We forgot
how to touch.
Our bodies go
through the motion,
the repetition.
The pulse
and flex;
it is
too much.
It is
not enough.
You sleep
beside me,
only a
whisper away,
yet I can’t
remember
what your hands
feel like
on my body.
I like to
tell myself,
it is easy to
fall back into
place.
But these
pieces have
turned jagged,
misshaped,
rough to touch.
On nights
like this,
I prefer to
sleep alone.
This morning I saw a coyote and two roadrunners on my morning run, and since I am not one to deny fate, it seemed like a good spark for writing.
For today’s prompt: What animals are appearing to you today? What might they symbolize? What message might they carry? Why do you think they appeared to you? Try to look beyond the animals you see daily (pets, ants, etc), and see what unexpected creature may appear.
Katrina Kaye
it has been
seven years
since last
we touched
the final
flakes of body
that remembered
are rubbed clean
i am reborn
but there is
residual substance
in the circuitry
of mind
left over, sticky, and
lingering
a clue
clinging
to cobwebs
as clean as
body may be
it is no match
for the grip
of memory
despite the
warmth of skin,
muscle, heartbeat,
breath, and blood,
there is a chill
that sinks
to bone
“7” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2021).
Chasing Rabbits 
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