Sparrow

Sketchbook

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

You can tell he still loves her
by the way he shades
the muscles of her arm,

careful sketches over rounded flesh.

She left pencil shavings clinging to him,
spider webs grazing the top of his head
woven into unwashed hair.

He looks for her in the morning,
reaches across a cold bed
to trace her outline in head crushed pillow.

Not yet ready to replace these impressions,
or wash her scent from loose sheets.

He pretends he can hold her,
keep her safe,

a green and yellow parakeet
nestled in his palm.

Head twisting back,
sharp black eyes reflect
thick fingers around fragile frame.

He was sure,

despite
the flick of restless glances,

the spit of tears from a cursing tongue,

the hollowness in the cage of her ribs,

she would keep.

So sure

he could reverse rip currents
pump air into languid lungs,

resurrect the broken.

You can tell he still loves her
by the way he won’t catch your eye,

the small tremble in his voice
when he says her name
and looks away.

“Sketchbook” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).

Migration

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

The sun aches,
an orange jewel in violet.
We share too many mornings
in silence. All our words
migrate.

The sparrows fled
late this year.

They found it easy
to sleep among windowpanes,
rest in late afternoon sun.
Far too easy to fall from
treetops, when their
time has come.

I grew old
with the ebb of summer,
but my little girl’s smile,
a yellow butterfly,
bright and tender,
shimmered in dawn’s mist.

Fluttering against the blue,
life rustles beside
drying leaves on wilted vines.
There is something so free
about a flirting bird following
its kin as the seasons change.
I caress her flushed cheeks
with hands spotted by time.
These lined lips can not
match her vibrant grin.

It’s time to follow
the sparrows, and leave her
to the fall.

“Migration” is previously published in Trailing Sparrows (2014).

Come as You Are

/ Katrina Kaye / Leave a comment

Katrina Kaye

Navigate using the sun like a compass.

Find direction
on the cloudiest days
beaconed in violent sky.

At the door,
your tattered skin,
broken body.

Know there is still a place for you,
this brood still recognizes you by scent.

Find home here.

We end up hip to hip at this table,
sharing bread from the same bowl.

I wrap ears around your revelations,
let thumb prints sink into your mind
until you realize this is where you belong.

One of my kind:
not a gentleman,
not a tramp.
A misfit finding comfort
in your familiars.
Twisted words tell terrible tales,
split lips
I could have molded
from my own reflection.

Our breed may have been
separated in infancy by
high water and strong winds,
but we were born to the same tribe,
our mouths cradle the same tongue.

Distance cannot eclipse bonds.
Legacy cannot be hidden in straps of time.

Come as you are,
you are welcome here.

“Come as You Are” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).