by Sylvia Cavanaugh

I find loose change in my son’s unmade bed, but do
not let myself straighten the quilt. I plunk the cold
coins into an old cup. He left school and works now.

He often sleeps on the sofa, so I find coins there, too.
He’s nineteen; soon to leave the bright balloons. I find
overdue fine notices from the County Clerk of Courts

fallen to the floor and forgotten. An orange soccer
shoe rests halfway under the bed. A few Magic Cards
splay across his face-down senior prom photograph.

Without trying to, I recently came across the secret
he hasn’t yet told me. At night, he sleeps in his thick
jeans and leaves behind this hard scattering of coins.

Sylvia Cavanaugh teaches high school cultural studies and has advised breakdancers and poets. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared in various periodicals and anthologies. She is a Contributing Editor for Verse-Virtual: An Online Community Journal of Poetry. Her first chapbook, Staring Through My Eyes, was published by Finishing Line Press. A second, Angular Embrace, was published in 2018 by Kelsay Books. More can be found at sylviacavanaugh.com.

Copyright 2018, Sylvia Cavanaugh

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