"Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul."

Fishing for Pennies

In poetry, to you, writing on November 9, 2009 at 12:09 am

You stand in line fishing change out of the oceans of your purse. As you fumble for a fourth penny you blame your habit on an aunt who once cooked a meal for an army of men that was never there. Her house makes you cry. It’s been locked for years but we all bet the curtains still wear her perfume and the ghost of the cat still bites invisible guests’ hands. Whether rooms slumber in completed asphyxia or the walls still live and breathe, homes are always partially frozen in our minds and are remembered while standing in line looking for four dollars and one more copper penny.

  1. My mind is now filled with memories of my Nan’s house – the smells, the wooden music box on her dresser, and her soft bed. Wonderful writing :)