—for Helen Boni

As a kid
I’d find a silver quarter

once every two years or a silver dime.
And I’d find World War II nickels with silver

throughout my 20s
as most hadn’t clued-in.

I haven’t found a silver coin
in 20 years.

Still find an occasional wheat-ear penny.
Have two on my desk.

The ‘55 still with luster.
It’s in superb condition.

“Superb” is not a coin grade—
the wheat ears contain clear lines

and Lincoln’s facial structure is barely worn.

The ‘45 has that yellow tone from melted shell casings
as World War II was coming to a close.

Lincoln’s cheekbones are smooth
and the ears of wheat lacking.

I no longer have grades memorized, but I’m thinking
“Fine” would do it.

*

When I was young
reading the coin grades

wanting my worn coins
to be better than they were

I imagined qualities
that weren’t there.

*

My Grandmother
would give me rolls of coins to go through

when I visited her in Little Falls
and in one roll of pennies I found two 1909 VDBs.

They weren’t S’s
but in lovely shape

and I wondered years later
if she’d planted them.

Like my dad hooked a northern pike on my line
after I’d gone to bed when I was 9, where I’d set the pole

in the ground near shore with a minnow on the hook
being told pike come in shallow at night to feed.

*

Now these pennies roll around in a hand-made dish
I got in Costa Rica.

The other day a reed bracelet sold to me by a teenage boy
in northern Thailand sprang from the dish

as I closed the closet door
reminding me of him walking back into the jungle.

Reminding me of the donuts made fresh before sunrise in the wok of oil
by the 7-year-old boy on Doi Ang Kang Mountain,

Burma in the distance.
The women’s teeth black from chewing beetles.