Poetry

Returns

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

I come back
the way ghosts do,

silent,

in the night,

when you are alone and can’t still
your mind.

Despite the passage of a thousand days
and the countries that grew between us,

I slip between sheets,

a million tiny insects over brown skin,

and hum Amazing Grace beside your ear
in a tempo too slow for you to recognize.

Did you know:

I never abandoned you
even if you couldn’t feel
my warmth pressed
to your side?

Your eyes may not have glimpsed me as 
I hid in the threads of last winter’s overcoat,

or while I merely sulked beside
you over morning coffee,
but surely the scent of peppermint
hinted that I was near.

I return
into the backdrop of your eyelids

silent,

in the night,

where death cannot keep
me from you.

“Returns” is previously published in Brickplight (2021).

well practiced

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Despite the change of pressure in my lungs,
I continue to feel you breathing my air.

We are linked.

You spent too many summers clinging to
the folds of bed skirts to believe your
disappearance is more than mere migration.
The best days of winter are spent in
preparation for the return of spring.

We are well practiced at letting each other go.
We have done it so many times.

 

Try

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Concave and collapse your elements,
readjust the weight balanced between heels,

stand with feet planted firmly,
chin expanded toward the wind.

The sun is rising for you.

Don’t think for one moment these clouds
don’t know your name.

I told them to be expecting you.

They will bring you honeyed tea
and tie the hair from your eyes
if you let them.

Hidden in your layers of flesh and brass
beats a voice screaming sticky syrup.

Let it be heard.

If you need me,
reach with outstretched palm.
I will cross it with silver threads,

best wishes,

hard candy,

good intentions.

I told spring you would be coming,
she already knows the flecked gold in your irises,
and just how to shimmer into them.

The summer sun is eager to meet you.
Introduce yourself.

Let her lighten your hair
with tales of summer.

Soon your hands will no longer reach for me,
but I’m with you and always will be.

“Try” is previously published in September (2014).