Breadcrumbs

Looking across the lake

again, the mountains

shake their dandruff

*

off. The heat’s begun

its lurid shimmy above

the water, up the hill

*

to Phinney Ridge

where the Bewick’s wren

lazily but persistently

*

reminds her, “We are—“

Here again. Despite,

“We are together.”

*

One warm day a week

until the spring comes.

She knows, rips

*

the crust off her sandwich.

He raises his white eyebrows.

He only wants her crumbs

*

and she wants to cut open

his bulging, vibrating throat.

Joe Nasta is a foodie and poet vibing in Seattle. He has whispered five books of poetry into the world: I want you to feel ugly, too (2021); agony: love pomes (2022); blur/screenshot memories of platonic lust (2023); salt-water poems (2024); and (friendship poems) (2025). He is the author of Halve It (2025), a collection of short stories available wherever books are sold. Ze is an associate editor for Elizabeth Ellen's Hobart. This poem was written during an adventure exploring the Phinney Ridge neighborhood of Seattle.