Poetry

Everyone Has a Summer

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Mine involved boys and alcohol,
late nights, loud music and bonfires,
a little red dress I bought on sale.

I balanced on platform shoes,
etched black eyeliner around lashes,
eager to be a little more than what I was.

I used to smoke cigarettes.
It was an excuse to make
eye contact, slip away with someone,

discuss poetry — or was it
philosophy? — share a strawberry flavored
kiss, and whisper a secret or two.

Everyone has a summer,
but there is no reason to be dismayed
when the fall comes.

Even in autumn months,
a night or two may recapture me
to a place of little consequence.

There are still late nights
when I have a drink too many,
kiss the boys on the patio,

kiss the girls on the neck.
Smoke a cigarette from
the brand I quit years ago.

I’ve grown past the green of my prime,
and, although I wilt, there is a young woman
with a too loud laugh wearing a red dress

who still exists somewhere in the pit of me,
because giving in to the animal
until the sun rises can be so breathtaking.

“Everyone has a Summer” was previously published in Saturday’s Sirens (2022) and the chapbook “no longer water” (2024).

Poetry Prompt: Letters to Ghosts

/ Katrina Kaye

Write a letter to someone you don’t know very well, but you feel like you had a lot in common with. You might begin by brainstorming a list of people who you have always felt connected to but never met (personal, famous, historical).

Think of people you know who you are no longer able to speak with (maybe people have always told you that you are a lot like your grandma), or it could be a famous person whom you have never met (perhaps you would like to know if you and Anthony Bourdain really would have been great friends). This could be somber, but it also could be funny and playful. Challenge yourself by picking someone who is not your first thought.

Start your poem traditionally, with a “Dear (Specific Name).”

You are welcome to share your creation in the comment section below or on the Spill the Ink Facebook Group.

To the student who introduced me to Philip Glass:

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

There must have been more to you.

A strength kept far
below your commonplace skin;

a philosophy found
in the keys of grand piano.

Perhaps I never noticed it
because it was in your hands,

the clean nails and posed
fingers of a pianist.

I was looking at a face
too eager to avoid my glance.

Maybe you didn’t play at all and
that secret was resting beside ear drum

and closed eyes as you followed
the notes with nodding head.

But oh,
how the staccato pierced me,
repetition and awakening,

The familiar and the cloaked
taking turns at who leads the dance.

The known or unknown, sage or novice,
Teacher becomes student and student-teacher.

Of all I have learned from doing
nothing more than listening,

this lesson is one of the sweetest.

“To the student who introduced me to Philip Glass:” is previously published in Verse Vital (2023).