Inheriting My Grandmother’s Foot

In my young eye, her foot with its twisted
big toe was the problem, though
more likely it was her hip. She barely walked
to the mailbox, a block away. She plodded

in her black, old lady shoes as she mothered,
wifed, grandmothered. No running
on pliant sand, cooling her heels in the ocean,
climbing to peaks, rowing against currents.

She toed life’s lines    kept her feet
on the ground.      She footed the bills
withstood     the burdens of her life.
She put her best foot     forward.
I have grown     into her foot     one day
her foot     in my grave.

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About the author:
Elane Gutterman’s recent poems have appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, The Fib Review, The Kelsey Review, The New Verse News, and Shot Glass Journal. She has been nominated three times for a Pushcart Prize. Her first book of poetry, Tides of Expectation, was published in 2022 (Kelsay Books). She is Chair of the Literary Arts Committee at the West Windsor Arts, where she is also a founding board member.