Coins: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir

Coins

I can’t tell you the amount of coins

My father found when he was alive.

Pennies,

Nickels,

Dimes.

All aligned waiting for him,

To stop and pick up.

He’d catch a glimpse of their silvery,

Faces,

Laying flat and unimportant on the sidewalk.

When he’d pick them up I’d smile

In amazement that he could spot so many

Of these neglected, inconspicuous currency;

While others walk so proudly without

Checking

The ground

Beneath them.

Those years of watching my father collect coins

Cultivated a thing inside me,

A golden eye

For silvery plunder.

And now,

I can walk the street

With any of my friends

And they will tell you

I’ve never seen anyone find as much money as she does.

A skeptic would say, “You just have to look.”

But I say,

It’s Daddy saying Hello.