Consumption

penny

I used to put things in my mouth,
things I wanted to hold for longer than I would be near them,
like rocks, bits of dirt, a bit of plastic from a stir stick.

When I was twelve, I took to swallowing them.
I ate a stone at a lakeside cottage,
a ten-cent coin found by a friend,
that small chunk of wood that fell off our bookshelf.

They are all still in me somewhere,
caught in my intestinal tract, snugged up against my duodenum,
or left as a memory of energy in the history of my cells.
Her lipgloss is still in my throat.
That wool thread from your sweater still sticks to the roof of my mouth.

I ate a penny last week.
I've told no one.
It was nearly black on one side,
but it bore the year of your birth, and I liked to think
that you once held it between your thumb and forefinger
like I did,
before I tossed it back.

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The above poem is a response to Amy Turn Sharp's call for 5-minute breakfast poems on Fridays during the month of April.

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Elan Morgan

Elan Morgan is a blogger, designer and consultant, and speaker who blogs and works from schmutzie.com, spreads gratitude through the graceinsmallthings.com social network, celebrates quality blogging with the canblogawards.com, and speaks all over. She has been seen in the Globe & Mail, Best Health and Woman's Day magazines, TEDxRegina, and on CBC News and Radio. She believes in and works to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

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