Cast Iron Pan

Chef used me properly until the burn.

Now I dangle from a hook and glisten

a rim of carbon inside my bottom lip,

1 orange mark of oxidation & chili powder

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on my neck. Woozy off my aromatics, he forgot

exacting & sprinkled the wrong flavors. Sage.

Something I’ve never felt before. Rosemary.

My Crisco’d pores soak everything scraped

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along my skin with a wooden spoon. Ginger.

I simmered. He grabbed my handle without a mitt - ouch.

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How clumsy of me! But really buddy. I'm so, so sorry.

We burnt each other but I never want to hurt you again.

Joe Nasta is a foodie and poet vibing in Seattle. He has whispered four 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); and salt-water poems (2024). 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. He is really very sorry for using soap on his roommate's cast iron pan when they lived in the Sun & Moon House in Beacon Hill, Seattle.