Duplex

When I was a little girl,
living in a brick duplex
my mother had an electric foot-bath.
The kind that heats the water
with bath salts
and then makes a little
jacuzzi
just for your feet.

And after she was done
I would get to put my small feet
in and the bubbles
would froth across my ankles.
My little red toes would peek out,
their image distorted by 
waves
as The Brady Bunch
played on 
TV Land.

This was a long time ago,
when my mama and I would
stay up late,
so late
like maybe 10 pm sometimes
to wait for my father
to come home.

Without him my mother
felt uneasy
and wouldn't sleep
and so neither did I,
and we still sleep 
with tense limbs
when he is away.

We would sit on the plaid couch 
and armchair
while the Brady family
wandered lost in the mountains
on their vacation.
I remember no words from
these times.

And some nights
my dad would come after 
I fell asleep
or he would bring home
little stuffed animals
from the Holiday Inn,
where he was assistant manager.
A little stuffed whale
he pulled from behind his back,
and then I could sleep
in my Pooh bear nightgown
and red toenails
all clean from
the foot-bath.

[This is nonfiction poetry.]