Those That Show (For Anna, For Merle)

There are wrongs wronged

dulled or forgiven  

the rude comment in line

waiting at the grocery store,

a coworker insisting you owed them 

more than you did - 

and there are injuries 

that show 

in the repeated bending

back and forth of a corner

of a scrap of paper,

the dull grind of your jaw

when you stare, lost to the tick

of a clock.


They are old, and so old.


Though you haven’t placed a 

penny in your mouth 

since you were a child,

you know the taste

the dirt, the metal

the blood and lemon of pocket change.