The arthritis is chewing up my bones,
deep down in my belly bole.
Instead of strength and structure, I have Swiss cheese bones.

Strictly speaking, eating fascia before bones,
squirreling away for later that which it stole.
The arthritis is chewing up my bones.

The mind stands strong, but the bones fill with grumbles, groans.
Some days the pain is local. Some, it swallows you whole.
Instead of strength and structure, rely on prednisone.

To seek succor is a dance with doctors—telehealth, telephones,
consulting with pharmacopeia takes a toll.
The arthritis is chewing up my bones.

Not something you wear on the outside, arthritic bones—
but you’re too young, too pretty, says some asshole.
Instead of strength and structure, I really am an old hagstone.

A weight to bear these self-coralizing bones.
It wears you down, arthritis, down to your soul.
Instead of strength and structure, I have Swiss cheese bones.
The arthritis, chewing up my bones.

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Christa Fairbrother (she/her), MA, is the current poet laureate of Gulfport, Florida. Her poetry has appeared in Med Lit Messenger, the Pleiades Disability Folio, Rogue Agent, and The Muse. She’s been a finalist for The Pangea Prize, The Prose Poem Competition, The Leslie McGrath Poetry Prize, and the Wilder Prize. She’s also been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. 

Facebook: @christa.fairbrother
Instagram: @christafairbrotherwrites
Bluesky: @christafairbrother.bsky.social