Sunday Verse: Kate Daniels - Portrait with Money

Portrait with Money

At the end of the day, my father is tired.

He sighs over his newspaper and pushes

the cold dinner around on his plate.

Because he works late, he eats alone.

Even my mother will not sit with him.

She is tired, too, from her day at the office

and is folding clothes or making lunches

for tomorrow or is already asleep

in front of the chuckling television set.

As young as I am, I know about money:

How there is never enough, how it causes

crying and fights. On payday, I know

happiness again-- a new pair

of saddle shoes, a movie after school,

the red plaid skirt on the beautiful girl

in the Sears catalogue, page three-sixty-two.

When my father goes to bed at night

he leaves his wallet on the hall table.

Most often, there is nothing in it

but a couple of ones or fives.

In the plastic window for photographs

there is a picture of him and me when I was one.

We look so happy together. I hold him

so tightly on the arm and neck

there's no space between us,

but he hasn't started to mind. Somehow,

small and fair and held so close, I can see

how I could look like a growth on him, something

permanent and needy, something he didn't ask for

but is learning to live with.

~ Kate Daniels