My stomach is

remembering the cold cash tacos we ate
swallowed by the horse landscape
soothed by lashing rain & your soft/sweet compliments
I wanted to be an orange red fire tree, wise and tired,
ready for the boom/crash of love
flexed by a well-placed axe blade.

No seascape—shape-shifting clouds dropped
salt and iron on our sweat-strewn skin.

On Tuesdays, I eat tacos and think of you.



About the Poet:  Freelance writer, editor and teacher Nancy Schatz Alton spends her free time reading, writing poetry and soaking in and seeking connection in Seattle, Washington. She lives with her husband, two teen daughters, two havanese dogs and grandma’s dog (for now). Find her blog at and a selection of her writing work at


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