I found a small treasure while walking down
a familiar street. Of course I kept it.
This penny's surface was scratched from years of
use: brass gone to green, shade-eye, sunflower
kept ages indoors. Fortune helps the brave,
you said. I found it that same day we first
tried to kiss. My fingers
clench sweaty fingers, obeying old doubts.
Beneath oxidation glistens
one true face, bright-browed Lincoln,
dignity, worth. 1982. Year of my birth.
You came the year after, and twenty-odd
years later, we met. This red purse we share
opened. Together we hoarded pillow-talk.
In my dusty desk, the coin
still jangles, pleading for freedom.
E Pluribus Unum. When spun in place,
pennies land facing the sky.
Our gold is proved by fire, raw hearts smelted
in scent: hay, lavender; spring and autumn
twinned. Proper ante for us. Our bargain is struck.
When tomorrow comes, I hope
we have the grit to pan
for our fortunes, sifting through mud
until we discover the first flash of
a mint-fresh beginning: us,
two keepers of promise, unsullied, bright
as sidewalk change blinking a hopeful eye.
