Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Day #7 : copper perspective

a poem about money 





Once when I was young, I fought with my father about my college education and the value of his money, the obligation to attend with an eye to the outcome; the promised wealth of a traditional degree — the one true reason for being 
all the while sitting in some 5-star restaurant with my father and then-future husband 
I protested 
and 
raised my banner boldly 
for experience and the wealth of knowledge over the welter of wealth
over that strident traditional orient of future wealth 
I fled in a baked-alaska of emotion to lick 
my wounds and heal in the solace of my own company. 
Once when I was young 
I was lying in a hospital bed 
mortally wounded,
split into a thousand pieces 
when my father saw me for the first time,
he cried
he held my hand 
he called me his always bright and shiny penny. 
I could not protest
flee nor lick my wounds
only surrender 
to his winged promise to heal in the solace of his love 

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