Breadcrumbs

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.

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