New Money

Those strange coins you held in your hands, reading Hemingway in cold cafes, staring out at the cobblestones that tripped you, that tripped you and tricked you for the past two weeks, past buildings older than anyone alive, down alleys too small to hold you, your self slipping out of you, the wall sockets too startling, the oldness too new to you, experience sliding from your palms past the heavy coins too many to understand the value.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s