Katarina Boudreaux

He forgot how
to be human
in the early spring.

The winter before
he’d tried to love,
but finding little
solace in it,
he opted for
the quiet of
cans of sardines
and twenty flavors
of ice cream.

He thought of loss
only when he scraped
the bottom of the carton
with the metal spoon
he’d found beneath
his pillow one morning
after sleeping in.

Sometimes the pigeons
he tracked had her eyes.
Sometimes he fished
and found that her mouth
took his bait.

He vowed never to leave
his sanctuary when
he found her eyelashes
inside a wildflower
in late spring.