Not the foundation, but foundational,
who’d have thought they’d be the first to go?
Tendons ruptured,
the result of congenitally flat feet,
which make communion with the ground, closer
than most people enjoy, not even space
to slip a piece of paper underneath,
have ungrounded her, left her unankled, unstable,
unable to hike the rocky trail or weed the slope,
much less shake it around the dance floor.
Ankles are the body’s sill plate,
so often overlooked, but they control
the vertical until they, and it, are not.
She took her house’s sill for granted,
likewise her ankles. What else does she ignore
that, crumbling, will signal the end of good life?
Perhaps the commandments,
that sill on which her godly qualities rest,
the ankles of her faith.
