Katrina Kaye
I will not let you win,
but
if you contemplate your attack
and occasionally lift your head
to meet my gaze,
you might be able to see my next move
behind meditative eyes.
If you look,
I might give something away.
Something you are invited to take.
“Chess” is previously published in A Scattering of Imperfections (2009).
Katrina Kaye
This is a love song.
Heavy with honey,
yet rinses clean.
Know the fingerprints
which imprint on skin
have composed melody.
Our time together manifests into
wave upon wave of acoustic play,
like the night the power went out
so we lit candles and spit the lyrics
to American Pie over and over
until we recited every syllable.
Or the morning we watched the sun rise
humming Beatles ballads heard in dreams
amid the steam of coffee over pines.
There was the Thursday afternoon
in the heat of July when we watched
lightning bite the earth
and sang lonely songs of rain.
And the 4 a.m. we carelessly switched A to E
to catch a tune to match fresh free verse.
Eager to raise our voices together.
Sing with you,
to you,
clumsy hands
snapped strings,
missed notes,
forgotten words,
didn’t stop us.
I want to capture those days
in more than fuzzy photographs
and slurred memories.
I want to recreate the melody,
construct a love song,
a dedication,
to you,
to everyone,
snared in the fleeting moments
when it’s good to be alive.
“Love Song” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore (2011).
Katrina Kaye
Red nail polish splattered
against the black and gold circular pattern;
he hardly noticed.
A small bit of wax
from a candle lit,
living room picnic
melted in the middle.
He complained when he felt
the hard wax against bare feet,
but the damage seemed minute.
A black trail smeared
from the grease on my soles.
No matter how he yelled,
I couldn’t scrub it clean
or remember to leave my shoes at the door.
The corner tore during a fight
over dishes, laundry, and unhappiness.
I pushed him;
he pushed back.
The turning point was
Friday night’s Christmas party.
He was taking body shots
off the blonde in the kitchen.
I was kissing my ex on the back porch.
Neither noticed the overturned chest
leaking Merlot and merriment into a thick puddle.
The water dried, but the stain hovered.
On Saturday afternoon,
we stood on either side,
not facing, eyes downward,
and rolled it slowly up.
We placed it on the curb,
next to the VA donations
and recycling, certain someone
would pick it up.
“How I Ruined Your Persian Rug” is previously published in A Scattering of Imperfections (2009).
Chasing Rabbits 
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