From her blue armchair I can still hear mom yelling for me
to massage her feet with lotion. It had to be done
with cocoa butter, that was the only way. I made her heels soft
with my little, brown hands. I didn’t want to smell what was left
of the sweat between her toes. I picked out
the lint from the wigwam socks she even wore in July.
Fifteen minutes spent rubbing each pale foot. I rubbed harder,
then she moaned. From the couch her husband watched, but didn’t try
to touch her. Then she made me take it from her—the pink
razor I used to shave the black hair on each of her pale toes.
Donna Weaver’s work has appeared in or is forthcoming from the American Journal of Poetry, Aji Magazine, Poetry Motel, Lit Noire Publishing, and others. She was awarded the University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg-Scott Turow Prize for fiction. Weaver was nominated for “Best of the Net Poetry” from Sundress Press. She is a graduate of the University of Pittsburgh where she received a Bachelor’s Degree in English Writing. She is the founding editor of Caketrain Press.