Flecks of red pepper coulis
and shards of burnt crust
launch onto the table,
like baby birds chucked from their nest.
The particles, expats from her mouth,
concern me more than her words,
emotionally involved and traumatic.

Her story unfurls,
its tentacles unwelcome in my ears.
Every time we meet, her stingers
cause my skin to crawl,
and my chest to seize;
but I tried again anyway.

Instead of properly molting for spring,
I’ve shown up in full fluffy white coat.
Loneliness does not stalk me anymore
on limber paws or silent wings
through snow falling like tears.
My prey instincts have quietened.

I don’t have to collect people like acorns
when I am allergic to tree nuts.