Beneath the arch where balance meets, A hidden marvel, the foot's heartbeat. The Lisfranc joint, a silent thread, Holds the weight of where we're led.
Between the tarsals, cuboid tight, And metatarsals, guiding flight, A ligament whispers, firm and true, The second metatarsal’s anchor, too.
But when misstep or trauma reigns, The Lisfranc bears unbearable pains. A twist, a fall, a sudden break, The balance lost, the joint forsake.
Ligament torn, the bones displaced, Bruised and swollen, a tender space. The X-ray speaks of widening seams, The MRI reveals fractured dreams.
To walk, to run, to bear one's weight, Hangs in the hands of injury's fate. A cast may mend a minor woe, But screws or plates may be the show.
A surgeon’s skill, a careful art, To realign this fragile part. Fusion whispers when time’s unkind, Stability sought in bone refined.
The healing path is long and steep, With cautious steps and pain to keep. Yet hope persists, with every stride, That balance returns, and strength will bide.
Oh Lisfranc joint, a tale profound, Of hidden strength where feet are bound. Though injured, still the arch survives, And with it, dreams of movement thrive.
