Do you remember afternoons

dumping out the can of coins

and counting them with dad?

Ten pennies made a tower;

a wall of ten, a dollar.

 

He did nickels, dimes, and quarters.

I was the princess of pennies.

     

After hours of counting,

came the delicate task

of stacking the copper

flat in the wrappers.

He said little fingers

were good for that,

the neat, crisp folding

of the sleeves.

 

I loved those rolls in my hand,

their shape and heft had power.

We strode together

and traded them for treasure

down at the corner. Beer for him

and a Hershey bar for me.

     

Now, I take my coins to the bank,

willy-nilly in a can.

Down the chute they go.

No time spent, no towers.

Minutes later, the teller returns

with the empty container

and I go to my car,

a little bit poorer,

my pocket full of dollars.

 

From A Brief History of Mail (Pebblebrook Press, 2011).

Used with the author's permission.