STACEY FRUITS is a writer and photographer living in Tucson, Arizona, where the otherworldly late-afternoon light washes down the canyon walls and everyone is standing on the sun's doorstep, casting a fleeting, wriggling shadow of inspiration over her lens, or spilling it onto any available page. Her poetry publication credits include Conspire, Stirring, Sun Oasis, and Friends of Arcadia. This is her first photography publication. More of her work can be seen at her website.
WHEN MY STOMACH SPEAKS TO ME IN SPANISH
I want the Atomic Grill with chili pepper tongues,
stuttering students and love that is not meant to be.
I want to see your face tattooed in shadow by
the blue-eyed vines that nod and ask for water.
Breakfast is another word for early morning light
piled high on terra cotta plates with sprigs of lust
and fresh mint carried down from the Pueblos.
The grower's daughter has a name I can't pronounce,
and how I want the swish of her skirts when I run out to
meet you, your elbows in their usual groove on the table.