Clump of Copper Patina

A Penny for your thoughts.      
~  Sir Thomas More      
     
When I was eight  
I saved 100 pennies  
to show my mother  

When she merely said,    
"So? It's only a dollar."    
I buried them     
   
I was always burying things    
including my tongue  
I thought burying them    
wasn't a betrayal
like throwing them in trash—    
those tiny copper faces      
collected for so long;    
stacked by my fingers
gathering new daily  
   
I believed if they were buried      
they'd be given a new start    
when someone dug them up      
     
What my mother really meant was  
"I am so tired of being a single parent      
while your father is deployed"    
   
She also said it in various forms
of discipline

Being married at 14
four children by 20 is difficult
   
I was destined a middle child    
until my older sister abandoned life  
forcing me to take the lead    
   
So, it was okay,
she'd been through enough    

Even at eight
left to my own understanding
of how the world operates
I understood anyway   
     
It's hard to find your voice    
when you don't know who you are
  
I've glimpsed into my Universe    
seen black holes of mistakes    
and stars of accomplishment   
Planets connecting the dots   
past the residual dust
of various schools    
where we took temporary root     
   
But, as fate would dictate
it was always time to go
the moment I'd begun      
to learn the native tongue
    
An endless deluge of leaving    
for a new continent or state
and Southern ones didn't accept    
a different view point              
   
A woman finds her voice
when she's had enough
of men, religion, or politics
dictating her life
     
Whenever I find a penny now  
I still wonder, after 44 years    
if the dollar I buried is still there
a clump of copper patina
  
Or like me, found its value
through the truth    
     
~