Katrina Kaye
Every night
I save you
in a hundred
different ways.
I say the
right thing;
I turn a
different corner;
I catch you.
Every night,
I bring past
to present and
relive that
last day,
only different.
I take the
gun from your
hand; I answer
the phone.
I listen,
just listen.
Every night
I am there
instead of here.
I stop
it from
happening.
Every night,
in most
precious
imagination,
I become
your champion.
“Champion” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).
It’s finally here!
Pick up a copy of my newest chapbook released from Echobird Press!
No Longer Water is a collection of poems welcoming raw emotion regarding the process of aging mindfully into a truer self. Here, aging is regarded as a gift rather than a burden. In particular, a woman’s personal journey from who she once was to who she is now. With growth, either physical or mental, there are aches and discomforts that hurt to the core. This collection allows the aches to blossom. Discomforts become fuel to grow without outside influence. The speaker is no longer looking outwardly but inwardly. In this journey through poetry, there is a momentous shift where the mind, body, and soul understands both the trials and challenges of maturity, along with the rewards. Ultimately, life is a gift. The journey is tranquil, enlightened, and blessed, even if the trail is muddy.
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Katrina Kaye
You prefer to listen to my soundtrack:
my sigh at your touch,
the chords of gasp curse moan prayer,
the rhythm of my laughter.
The pulse of your lips on bare shoulder
sends a harmony throughout my body.
I continue to interlace my notes with yours,
eager to wrap my coda around you,
hold you tight inside this melody of morning.
I purr for you,
a vibration between skin and bone.
The treble of your embrace hums
inside the length of my octave.
It’s a tempo in my shoulder blades,
the meter in a Monday morning
and a half night’s sleep,
residing in the throat of me.
I hold my song still,
take my heart off my tongue
and put it in the drawer by my bed.
The cadence of our time together
is still rattling against exposed skin,
though your lips sing static.
You embedded a beat inside me
and left your refrain to reverberate
between spine and sternum,
long after the music died.
“Soundtrack” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories like that Anymore (2011).
Chasing Rabbits 
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