Frida’s Foot

Were you beautiful—yes.

Were you alive—yes,

despite that traitorous spine

and the foot—

that damned pata




then gone. Briefly survived.


I think about Frida’s foot

and the steps it took over floors

and roads and rock.

The dragging out of an endless injury,

the dances it watched,

the red boots that usurped it.

I think about Frida’s foot dragging


as a ball and chain,

a lump of uncooperative flesh and think

What do I know of pain?



but what I know of Frida’s blood,

her blackened toes,

her feet and



Elizabeth Breder is an artist and writer from New Jersey. You can see and read more of her work on and