Come as You Are

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).


Katrina Kaye

The echo of our time together
still reeks of musty clothes and walks in the rain.

Aware of the tick of the tock,
I hastily wrote my lyrics all over your body,
unfinished tattoos of snarling dragons
and long haired beauties.

We were starving then,
misfit and broken,
so desperate on these feet
which knew only how to sink in sand.

The snap of your smile
was enough to unknot
the tiny hairs around my neck.
The ink of your iris
left my door unlocked
for the chance you
needed a comfort to crawl in.

You were my favorite stanza
of a strange poem
birthed over bed sheets and smiling moons.

I was so careful
not to use the word forever.

After you slipped out,
I spent the afternoon
looking for scissors to clip
this moment clean.

Instead I found ribbons of your
Wednesday night verses,
the imprinted entanglement of your arms,
the scrawl of your breath
against shoulder blade,
the residual whisper:

is all there is.

Just you,
just me,

just this.

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

Thank You

Katrina Kaye

Thank you

for the dance in the lightning storm;
the blowing wind that chilled summer skin
and placed my hair in your eyes.

Thank you

for meeting my gaze with kindness,
laughing at my redundant jokes, and
singing along with me to the radio.

Thank you

for learning the words to my favorite song.

Thank you

for the drink on the porch
after everyone else was gone,
for the last cigarette in your pack
and the honest conversation
long after the hour of reason
when our lips say things
our minds have long hidden.

Thank you

for the reminiscence,
for just a little while, for just one night,
of precious moments long lost
to the whirl of the wind,
while the sky’s electricity screams.

Thank you

for remembering me.

Thank you

for making me
feel as though I am still loved.

But mostly,
thank you

for releasing your grip,
for letting time and space work their magic to heal
the wounds you dug into me. Thank you
for letting me go.

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