Stacey Fruits: Two Poems with Photographs

LOVE POEM FOR A PANHANDLER

The ache of me stands like a sunlit dust shape

in a doorway of Jerome, that ghost town with its

gold heart bleeding underneath the bars

and girls whose dances make their shirts

of flannel shine, unbuttoned to the breastbone

where they carry their winters, their soup pots

and lockets, their broad bones of light.

I sit with my buffalo love on this mountain,

my fences too small to contain the stampede.

Stacey Fruits

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.

Stacey Fruits