My father has been retired for twenty years.
At seventy-five my mother said to me last
night from a thousand miles away,

He still wants those three meals a day:

        morning     noon    and       night.

All these years, and I'm still washing dishes.

A woman never retires.

Lately, it's bothered me, she said.

I don't know why.

From too many wounds over too many years, adhesions cling to her stomach lining
like icicles on the side of a cavern.

She can only eat two tablespoons of food at a time.
She has to eat frequently.

She doesn't eat three meals a day, and in the dishpan at the end of any day are mostly
tablespoons that can be washed in one standing.