Member-only story
An Ode to my Heel Spurs
Poetry
Every step I take reminds me
of when I was six
and had a rusty nail
stuck in my foot,
only I can't take this nail out
and look at it,
ask it where it came from.
That's not true though,
since the nail in my foot today
is in my heel
and not in my arch
up towards the ball joint,
and this pain doesn't leave
little splotches of blood
on my floor for me to find,
each one a tiny meal
for the universe, an appetizer if you will.
Also, this pain won't heal.
It's just there, part of me now,
like my bad back, and my bad joints,
and my stomach
that I guess really wishes
it could get this whole thing over with
and digest itself. Maybe my stomach
is the smart one here.
Life requires mobility
to follow Proust's advice
and try to keep a patch of sky
over your head, something to…
