Valentines: “538” by Rae Hoffman Jager
538
Pennies balanced
in a Maxwell Coffee House tin
precariously, of course,
on top of the front door frame.
That was the best we could do
for a security system in 1998.
The oldest boy each night would
draw his sleep-heavy legs and closed
eyes down the stairs, across the family
room as quiet as a deer in snow,
and to the front door
where he’d sway for hours
until someone shook him.
Once, he unlatched the lock
and stepped out into the night.
My mother found him
shivering at the Elm. She said
a tingling in her toes woke her.
The next time, there was no next
time— The tin, of course.
My mother gathered all those
useless but abundant pennies,
scuffed and hard earned
and dumped each one with a ping
and a tat. And after each of us
was folded into bed, placed
the tin to come crashing down
at the slightest ripple of air.
And of course—that is the moral
you’d miss if you weren’t reading closely—
The overlooked ingenuity of the mother.
The abundance of the mother.