Breadcrumb #321

CLAUDINE NASH

The toothless
pterosaur
you used
to feed
keeps crying
for your
cold corn
and sardine
soup.
I spent
the morning
in the side
garden
grinding
insects,
dicing
scallions
and bits of
fresh fish,
yet still
he spits
my sorry
excuse of
a stew into
the dunes.
I fear time
is finding
him growing
thin and
ornery.
It's not
my intent
to make
another
suffer
hunger,
but I must
admit I
love the way
his wings
make wind
when he
takes off
bothered
and empty-
bellied.
Tomorrow
I will tuck
your recipe
book back
under my
mattress and
bring him
a basket
of bread
soaked in
salt water
instead.
I thought
you both
knew
I'm not
much of
a cook.

• • •

Breadcrumb #319

AVANI PATEL

Are you sure it is safe?
I am sure,
You whispered,
If I am sure of anything, it is this, now

My feet were cold but the sand was warm
The waves waved, beckoned, tickled my toes so I laughed

Just jump
So I did

And we swam
Through uncertain waters and merciless waves we swam
Drowning and tumbling and calling it swimming.

We stopped.

Looked forward, back

Shore looked different now

Changing each time we waded these waters

The waves grew tired, kissing,

Gently, pulling away when needed.

I looked at you – covered in casualties of sea

Can you see?
I could not

Are you there?
You were not

So I saw

And swam back

To my sure.

• • •

Breadcrumb #318

DEVAN ROLLYSON

The one
Texts me poetry-
Words hot
 Bourbon fire.
He says
Even in dreams
We are one. 

The one
Gives me his cock,
Not his cum. 
Because, 
I have always
Loved tragedies. 

The one
Paints me like
The Kiss.
Gets me off with
 Hands that are calloused
From past lovers.
Hands that have
Touched velvet,
Touched my soul.

The one
Is tortured
The way all
Artists are. 

I hate him
The most,
Because he is
My mirror.
Reflecting
Delusion after delusion.

The one
Journals his conquests-

But

I am not one of his
French girls
To be written about, 
Finite and pressed neatly
Into the spine of what
Might as well be
His Bible.

• • •