Pennies
Grandpa saved pennies in Mason jars
in the bottom cabinet of the sideboard,
a habit born of the depression.
When we spent the night, we kids would
take the pennies out like treasure, dump them
clattering on the table, and sort them
by date, by mint, identifying Ds and Ss
among the stacks we formed like towers,
separating the wheat and steel pennies
that came from the war. We didn't think
about the distances they'd traveled,
the pockets, the people they'd touched.
We didn't think about what these pennies
had been exchanged for, what they'd purchased,
the shaving brushes or shoe horns, the coffee
cans filled with nails, the handkerchiefs.
We thought about how rich Grandpa must be,
the weight of pennies dripping through our hands.
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