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.


Annette, I am writing these as they come to me...


Mother contributes to progress
by upgrading to a new side-by-side refrigerator.

She's enamored of the many compartments,
the labeled drawers for lunchmeat

and fruit. Baby sister stands next to a wall
and answers questions none of us ask.

Mother suspects extreme myopia and
honey-harangues her away from the wall

with the promise of bananas suspended
in jello. I pull the door of the new fridge

like it's still wide as a Buick. An egg flies
out of its keeper and lands on the floor.

I see after the fact there's a sliding lid
that isn't completely closed. I turn to mother

to share the discovery only to find her gagging
into her hand. "It's just an egg," I say.

Mother desperately points towards the paper towel.
"Don't make me look at it," she says.

I think it's funny how she wretches, the egg
almost beautiful, broke neat as a pin, yolk a high dome

of vivid yellow. Baby sister puts her face
right next to the egg. "Poor baby," she says.

© 2019 House of the Tomato