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Father

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Allow a streak of light
from single bulb hallway
to lay across the floor.

Remind me, in this mild action,
there are heroes in the world,
not every action is based on
the selfish hunger of men.

On nights like this
the rocks of the world
lay heavy on my spine,
pinning me to an earth
I have no desire to inherit.

Let me hear the voices
down the hall. The influx
in cadence regardless of meaning,
the occasional laugh.

I am again
five years old asleep in
a stranger’s house feeling
no desire to resume the
party but comforted to know
it continues.

Leave the door cracked,
just enough, so I’ll know
when the house rings silent,
when the hall light finally dims
that I am completely alone.

“Father” is previously published in Chariot Press (2022). Talon (2022), and Greatest City Diary (2022).

Returns

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

I come back
the way ghosts do,

silent,

in the night,

when you are alone and can’t still
your mind.

Despite the passage of a thousand days
and the countries that grew between us,

I slip between sheets,

a million tiny insects over brown skin,

and hum Amazing Grace beside your ear
in a tempo too slow for you to recognize.

Did you know:

I never abandoned you
even if you couldn’t feel
my warmth pressed
to your side?

Your eyes may not have glimpsed me as 
I hid in the threads of last winter’s overcoat,

or while I merely sulked beside
you over morning coffee,
but surely the scent of peppermint
hinted that I was near.

I return
into the backdrop of your eyelids

silent,

in the night,

where death cannot keep
me from you.

“Returns” is previously published in Brickplight (2021).

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).