House of the Tomato

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

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Sonnet to Arthritic Feet

I had to do it. And, my FIRST sonnet. I read up on sonnets and really tried. Of course what’s on my mind today? Not sure I have the rhythm quite right, but it can be fudged I think. It’s a Shakespearean. (abab cdcd efef gg). This anthology: “Is it Hot in Here or is it Just Me? Women Over 40 Write on Aging” is asking for poems on aging, 7/1 deadline. I can send you the link, too if you want it.

Is the “turn” appropriate these days ( with alcohol abuse, or is it still a thing I can poke fun at?) Another Title could be : To My Feet

Sonnet to Arthritic Feet

Arches fall creating the flattest of feet,
joints rub one on one cause spurs on the bone,
grape-sized knobs breed pain to make me bleat.
My feet grow painful like hot pounding stones,  

walking is hard, hiking out of the question.
I rate my pain on a scale of one to ten,
to the doctor I go for steroid injections
that last a few weeks when I walk and bend.

When pain returns how do I keep active?
Getting fatter by day with what I can’t do,
pain is dumbed with a blue pill attractive,
but kidneys rebel with blood work askew.

I’ve found a trick that eases pain chronic,
put my feet up with a gin and tonic.


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