A bag of sixpences. (Or what love is.)

My father was telling me about sixpences;

(not for the first time,) 

and my mother was laughing, 

as she does.

"He still thinks you ought to be

able to get into the cinema for sixpence,

and have enough change left over for

the bus ride home," she said, 

a fond glance beneath an elegantly

arched eyebrow, warming the room.

"Your father has had that bag of sixpences forever, 

and he keeps hiding it in different places,"

then, Sotto Voce, "but I always know where it is."

I knew as well, as a child had often 

secretly counted each shiny little coin.

Once, when I was eight, hungry for contact,

I had stolen into the inner sanctum of

my father's study;  become too absorbed

in the moment and had been caught, as the

saying goes, with my hand in the cookie jar.

"I know I don't have to count them," 

my father said, understanding my need.

"Looks like I'll have to find a better hiding place though."

a kiss to the top of my head as he took my hand.

"Just imagine if a burglar broke in and stole them."

Outside, a light autumn rain caressed the lawn,

the voices of my mother and father softened,

faded into the backdrop of my mind, as I

stood and picked up the silver framed 

photograph I had known since a child;

secure in the knowledge that

the only secret my father had 

was a hoarded bag of sixpences, 

and that my mother,

as she does, would always 

fill the house with laughter. 

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This is so sweet and heartwarming. How lucky everyone would be to have had such a loving family to grow up in. I'm a bit like your father now, always remembering how much things used to cost. Up to the age of 12, I got into movies for 10 cents, then paid 5 cents for a small Coke and 10 cents for popcorn. Twenty-five cents in all, a quarter of a dollar.

[Crowley]

Oh yeah!!! I love this type of nostalgic story, I smile all the way through. This is a piece of a movie, a part of a novel and yet like a good short it holds its own and keeps the reader wanting more or reflecting on a similar situation in their lives. Really good Beccy!!!

[barleygirl]

What a graceful vivid depiction of the simple things that make a family connected. Your delivery is so perfect, I felt carried away on a river of love. Perfect balance between description & dialogue, both crafted realistically & poignantly. Love this! I only remember the dramatic aspects of my childhood, but I need to try to remember these kinds of small precious moments . . . your poem teaches me this (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

That is a sweet story... passing on our memories to future generations is how we remember where we came from and how great we had it.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i really like the simpler times feel of this...reminds me of going to the movies for 50 cents...double feature...popcorn was a quarter and sodas 15 cents...

now? wow, how different it all is...a tiny bag , one bag, of groceries...30 dollars...
i have similar memories of my dad...i think of him often...your poem reminded me...and thank you for that.
j.

[Norman 223]

How much are memories worth, Beccy? As you have shown in your poem, they are priceless..
My son found a 1931 sixpence and silver " thruppeny" that he mounted onto my last birthday card, just to remind me of the year I was born . He thought I was worth nine pence. As you said in your poem it,s these little things that spell love.

Norman

[kentuck14]

a wonderful memory poem . . . full of love for family.

Your poems are amazing . . . refreshing . . . not full of postmodern angst. Thanks.

Tom

[john l smith]

Happy memories of simpler (?) or seemingly less expensive times.

[Lyn Anderson]

This is a perfect example of how a freestyle poem can be a story and a poem all at once, with a poetic rhythm and flow that forms a picture in one's mind without all the words necessary in a story. Lovely.

[SkinlessFrank]

We don't always know how to say what love is, but we know it when we see it.