I look at the foreign coin in my hand,
haven’t seen this one before.
I wonder how many states it has traveled between,
how many countries it had been to.
it must have seen, felt, understood much more than I,
it must understand the necessities of the people in each land it has visited,
the exchange of money, but also of love and happiness,
when it was used at wishing wells,
the forever fountains where lovers desired only the happiness of the other,
dinner parties, where tips were given to all the waiters,
it must have seen the pure generosity, joy,
it must have gotten drunk on those spirits,
the ones of the people it has met, whose hands it had shaken,
daily being transferred from mindless banker, to average fellow,
to deep thinker, to hopeless romantic, to every type of person on this planet.
it has dulled over time, sacrificing its sharp shine to the people
it had grown attached to for a brief second,
before it was passed on again, forgotten, in the casualties of life.
but it understands, and it does not mind.
this coin, unable to stand on its own, yet helping people back to their feet,
giving them hope in their wishes, an extra cent of happiness in their nights,
overlooked by many, but picked up by the few that appreciate any spare change.
the people, the places, the touch of hands, some fragile, some weather-worn,
these experiences, they keep it going.
I turn it over again in my hand,
and hand it over to the man behind the counter giving me my medication,
as I turn away, I see its dull glimmer
and it’s gone…
perhaps a better word for that is