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