Turning Tricks

Katrina Kaye

You are not the girl you were before,
but not all these tricks are new.
Some remain trapped inside pulled muscles
and survival instinct.

Disfigurement of fingerprint bruises
on fourteen-year-old trachea.
White striped scars against tanned skin.
Tiny circles of cigarette tips
left on the underside of American thighs.

Old tricks concealed in the green casing of
jade scarves, ill patterned tattoos,
and skirts cut at the knees.

There is a metamorphosis scratching,
a change of perception
hanging upside down from the higher branches.
Discoloration solidifies,
a healing of harm inflicted on adolescent flesh.

Balancing acts shift from high beam to fingertips.
Sleeves conceal tricks of trade
instead of slices at the nape of wrist.

You’re not the girl you were before
and not all these tricks are old.

A reformation recognizable
not only in breastbone and high forehead,
but in the pacing of breath and the stillness of soul.

Cocoon continues to cling to branch.
Skin sheds over five lifetimes,
caterpillar remnants catch on ankle,
but they do not drag you,

Transform under the thumb of time,
crack chrysalis into a thousand sharp flecks
and puzzle the pigments together into a
newly formed pattern, still crumpled and wet
with the residue of rebirth.

“Turning Tricks” is previously published in No Longer Water (2024).

Break up Poem

Katrina Kaye

legs
bare
brown
smooth
to touch
can’t help
but watch
as they
walk away

ridiculous
the way
your lips taste

too much
gratitude
to be bitter

I gather
strength upon
back bone
desperate
to get the
tune right
to lure
you
to me

but the
smell of
your air
is rotten
is familiar
is perhaps
the same as
my own

don’t leave
this town
not yet
chance is still
hanging on
your words
unlocked
headlights
in the rain

I will try
to love you
better

“Break up Poem” is previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2022).

Kate once told me

Katrina Kaye

every poem begins
as a suicide note.
And a
well rehearsed
death
is always
winkled inside mind,

soaking there,
dripping stalagmites,
building blocks of
the subconscious.

Counting ticks
to midnight;
the story
so close
to conclusion.

Loneliness,

like rock candy
crystallizing on
popsicle sticks,
attaches to rib cage,

expands and compresses
with each
shallow breath.

I don’t have fear.

Sometimes the
only thing
that gets me through
is knowing

at any minute
I can stop it all.
I can rock and roll
out of this human suit,
shed soft covering,

reveal bare bone,
and empty cavern.
The sliver of power
over my life;

it is everything and
it is nothing.

“Kate once told me” is previously published in No Longer Water (2023).