Page 14 - WTPO Vol. VII #5

Two Phones (continued from preceding page)
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IV. Forty years later you call me, telling me you have moved back in with your parents.
To take care of them.
Your mother is irreparably bent with osteoporosis.
You could iron your father’s white shirts spray them with starch even
on your mother’s flat horizontal back.
You tell me
you rub Bag Balm into your father’s aching calves
every night now during Wheel of Fortune. Your mother makes chamomile tea
the kettle timed to whistle
only during the commercials. And then you roll the compression socks
onto his feet careful not to nick the inflamed ingrown toenail careful not to bruise the bunion careful not to tear the jagged nails.
It takes patience and persistence, you tell me.
There is nothing about his feet or calves
that want to be smothered But you remind him
that the constant pressure maintains circulatory flow
wards off the swelling
V. When you go to sleep at night you can still smell the lanolin
on your fingers on your hands
on your open palms.
in these suffocating hose.
helps prevent the clotting of blood
helps him relax into sleep.
Peel is a former middle and high school teacher, and the winner
of poetry prizes at Jelly Bucket Literary Magazine and ESME (Empowering Solo Moms Everywhere). Her poetry has appeared in Muddy River Poetry Review, Belle Reve Literary Journal, EastLit Magazine, Remembered Arts Journal, and elsewhere. Most re- cently, she has published poetry in Unmasked: Women Write About Sex and Intimacy after 50. She has a collection forthcoming from Shadelandhouse Modern Press.