Expectation  by Nancy Schatz Alton

I want to write without expectation stealing these words.

Still, I can’t quite describe the sound of heat filling this space.

The way the light hits the plywood basketball hoop backboard.

How being alone is so easy yet I love connection, too.


Can you hear the heat being forced out of the vents, warming me?

My cold fingers uncurl into their length, satiated by natural gas.

Being alone feels easy, yet I seek connection’s complications.

How your warmth feels like sunlight on the plywood backboard.


My cold fingers hold an easy bend while they click the keyboard keys.

This is the sound of satisfaction: type/click type/click type/click

So different from the warmth of sunlit connection with you.

I want both things separate: feeding each other, always.


Pure bliss to me: type/click type/click type/click on repeat.

Sunlight frames the lilac tree & the scraggly evergreen behind the backboard.

Nothing is separate: light illuminates how we feed each other.

I write expecting you to read these words: steal them from me.

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