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

for the three of us.