September

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).

Jane Doe Found under the 4th street Bridge

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

I can see the
currents change,
moving fast,
cutting through.

I stare at the
reflection of the water
on the belly
of my bridge,
water and light
dancing together.

I hide here,
skin sulked blue,
lodged beside stone wall
and spare tire.

Broken and static,
I freeze in brown water,
and allow the gentle pull
on my still body
to take me under.

“Jane Doe Found under the 4th street Bridge” is previously published in September (2014) and one other place that I can’t remember. It’s an old poem.

Breeze

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

I hope for a morning breeze,
cool air against hot skin.
I want to feel the creep,
the bite,

but the air is stiff,
hanging thick and cruel.

I cannot help but wonder at
the slap and kick of destiny.
The way the seasons tricked
me into loosing track of sunrises
and thunder storms.

I became immune to thirst,
the burn of flame to finger,
the squeeze and release of
sunburn on across my back.

The curse of burnt grass under hot sun
doesn’t prick my heel like it once did.

I became somehow clean;
wrapped in white sheets,
tied tight to sunlight.

And yet,
I long for comfort in the still of morning.
Something new and fresh
to chill heated skin.

Summer cooled by open window,
the soft breeze of morning air
slipping in,
letting go.

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