She opens my hand.
A silver dollar. She bites the coin
then holds it towards the dingy light.
It is proper US mint.
President Kennedy stares sideways
towards the beaded curtain.
I close my hand and she opens it again.
A flower. She plucks it
and we continue. A porch swing.
She sits on it and we keep going
up into the apple trees
with the baby robins in their low slung nests
Anything you want, she says,
and opens my hand again.
Julie Babcock
Julie Babcock’s poetry and fiction have recently appeared in PANK, No Tell Motel, Necessary Fiction, The Apple Valley Review, MiPOesias, and Fifth Wednesday Journal. Her poetry manuscript Character was a recent Gerald Cable Book Award finalist. She is a lecturer at University of Michigan.
Photo credit: Cassandra Trest
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