House of the Tomato

If a woman wants to be a poet, she must dwell in the house of the tomato. -- Erica Jong

Regional website for the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets, in partnership with the Reader's Loft.


Celebrating, sharing and inspiring poetry throughout Wisconsin.

Friend Less

I wrote this one today, too. Been checking in with "Poetic Asides." He continues prompts on Wednesdays. FYI.

Friend Less

The last time I saw her.

She was always a difficult friend.

My daughter wore pigtails, ribbons in her hair.

Her habit was to disarm truth.

Calf body pushed into my side, shy with strangers.

A trip to the local Whole Foods.

My daughter played with a calico cat in a rectangle of light.

My friend smoked on a small balcony, peering into the room with an Ultra Long cigarette.

The cat was a repeat interloper, pawing a stack of books on the coffee table.

She questioned fidelity, honesty.

I recognized shields of hammered copper.

I meant difficult in an existential way.

We ate Turkish figs, marinated tofu.

She stretched the phone cord to an adjoining room.

My face fell, revealing its looser skin.

Her obsession with sharing men.

She could argue logic like an edifice.

Stubbornness runs in my family.

She lost me in the elaboration.

We embraced goodbye at the gate.

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