LOTION TONIGHT by Donna Weaver

Lotion Tonight

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.

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