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.


Many years ago I wrote a series of short shorts I called "4 Letter Words." Been thinking about it again. Rereading them I don't think they can be salvaged. I was in a different place. But I think they could be reinvented. Let me know what you think. Sorta maybe stream of consciousness. 


Long years of nothing much to say.
Long ears. Nothing touches. You stay.
Words and their catcylism.
Words are inadequate.
Complete honesty is an uneasy state between two people.
Maybe impossible. Maybe ill-advised.
Early days, we called it, in our propulsion of beachcombing,
sleeping under a net
of stars, each
with a satellite,
two blades on our feet.
The promise of a relationship
is bigger than the relationship.
How much of a person should exist?
How much amorphousness?
The flare of you is in my nerve impulses.
You think by association
you can tell me what to do,
what to think.
I hate you for that.
I mean, I really, really do.
Alone is a different kind
of agitation.
Hate doesn't mean
I can't live with you.
Part of our admixture,
My indistinct edges overlap
your indistinct edges.
We are rising air,
water droplets, dust.
I cloud you.
I nimbus you.

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