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,


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.

Hannah Cohen lives in Virginia and received her MFA from Queens University of Charlotte. She is the author of Bad Anatomy (Glass Poetry Press, 2018). Recent and forthcoming publications include Noble/Gas Qtrly, Glass, Calamus Journal, Cease, Cows, Yes Poetry, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere.