Issue 11
Iron
Teresa White
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What Money Can Buy
Grandmother always wore a hat
set with fruit or flowers
while I wore a newly pressed cotton dress
and carried my red plastic purse
with all my money in it:
two cents apiece for ironing pillow cases.
Garlands big as dragon tails
hung off downtown buildings
in tinseled silver and gold.
We pushed through the giant
doors into the glittering of
a hundred counters.
Grandmother knew what she wanted
and led me to the ties. Though I knew
Grandpa hated them I nodded "yes" to
a navy blue with red stripe and handed
over my fistful of coins.
I wanted to buy him a new leg
or at least a cane that shone at the tip,
wanted to buy him a pair of glasses
he could see with but Grandmother
said he needed a tie, told me
what money could and couldn't buy.
~Teresa White
A Seattle native now living in Eastern Washington, Teresa has been writing poetry since her early teens. She has been published widely online and was nominated for the Pushcart prize in 1999 by the Melic Review. Email.
© 2003 by Teresa White. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2003 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.