My Grandfather’s Coin Purse
Real leather—not cheap imitation
A metal frame—hinged—with clasp
Still works
Opening with a finger-flip
There’s the button-down pocket
Well-remembered.
“D’you wanna get a soda-pop?”
Those trips to town recalled
With warm sensations arising
From somewhere deep inside.
Out would come the leather treasure pocket
Never failed me.
I have it now—carry it with me
Just like he did—(He’s gone—cancer got him at 76)
Leather separating from metal
And grain nearly worn off in places
Speaks volumes.
Milan Hamilton
April 26, 2007
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