if

Katrina K Guarascio

if i curl
tight enough
in the hidden
hole between

awake and asleep

i can keep
warmth in

if i am
still and silent
in the soft
space between

night and day

i can feel
my heart beat
i can clear
my voice and
whisper my
intentions

if i stay here, 
eyes closed,
mind uninterrupted
in the comfort between

oblivion and
sensibility

i can pretend
i have not
been forgotten

i can let
time turn her
face to the sun
and close
her eyes
to the light

my loneliness
will matter

my emptiness
will be realized

this is where
i find myself
where time is
relative and
the darkness
can’t get me

“if” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).

Erosion

Katrina K Guarascio

My façade is masonry.

Mineral matter
solidified
over supple flesh
of chin and chest.

I have built myself
into marble statue
perpetual in posture.

When you hit gravel,
I was the stepping stone
that supported your climb.
When you couldn’t swim any longer
I was an island to lie upon.

You said I was your rock:
stone held firmly in place,
lacking malleability,
solid under weight bending back.

You said you needed me
to hold you up,
keep free of fierce waters,
and blackened ravines.

You said I am
your stable support,
but my material,
though durable,
lacks permanence.

The smallest stream
cuts through
the hardest of granite
after years of rain.
Mountains weather to remnants,
boulders become sand,
and pebbles playing on the beach
move easily in the
pull and tug of changing tide.

I have not remained picturesque
from years of exposure to your elements.

My exterior is worn, eroded,
and when I crack
there will be no gems to harvest,
just hollow.

The firmer your hold on my splintering surface
the more you will strip me to sediments,
until there
is nothing left
of me
for you.

“Erosion” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore (2011).

Champion

Katrina K Guarascio

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).