My father leaves
money on the kitchen counter
whenever I visit.
A check for school.
Fifty for gas,
but my liver takes the cash.
Before my father’s birth,
my grandfather is a boy,
stung metal of a Nazi
coin in his hand.
He loved collecting
money. His book of
war occupation dollars,
labels ISREAL, JAP, FILPNO
on every page. His heart
caught in that 1940s yellow.
I love money.
I too keep euros
and pfennigs,
even the bitter silvers.
Our family a money tree.
How I spend enough bile