Cold

Katrina Kaye

I freeze
without you.

The towers
I place
around me
are set
on fire,

but they can
not keep
me warm.

I reach
for you,

not as easy
to find
as I hoped,

not quite
where I
thought you
would be.

In your
absence,
I lay
a slice
of memory
on my chest,
over flesh,

not as tender
as I remember,
not as much
a second skin,

yet
somehow
the shiver
is pacified.

“Cold” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).

 

After He Left

Katrina Kaye

They said
I would start
hearing things:

the heater
click-click-clicking
on and off,

cars driving by
at all hours,
the tap, tap, taping of
the dog’s toe nails
on the kitchen floor,

a phone call
at two am,
the crash of the ice
from the freezer,
the rattle of wind
knock-knock-knocking
at the front door.

They said
I would hear
remnants of
our life together
in the morning news,

the creak-creak-creaking
of sunken
floorboards,
in the way the
blankets rustle
to the floor,

and the way water
drip-drip-drips
from faucet.

But I don’t
hear anything,
only silence.

Nothing but
silence.

“After He Left” is previously published in Door is a Jar (2023).

 

Forever

Katrina Kaye

The lies have always
come easy. A candy coated
vibration between tongue and tooth.

But the promise of forever
sparse slips between lips;

sweet slander,
rarely invoked.

That truth came early and often,
at least to anyone paying attention
to the shift of sun across sky,

the bloom of flower toward dawn,
or the ceaseless shedding of skin cells.

The flux of uncertainty,
measured only by the assurance of change
leaves hands grasping for stone monuments
and brick buildings, as if holding on to
a hardier composition can create a sense
of stability.

As though one may convince
themselves there is no impermanence at all,

but we have all witnessed
the easy break and eventual mend of bone.
We have regularly watched the shift of clouds
constructing and destructing across sky.

I have never been one to count
my syllables, or consider the validity of each
statement that cusses from mouth,

but forever is one lie
I will forever
resist.

“Forever” is previously published on Saturday’s Sirens (2023).