NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This is a glimpse into a child’s world. Thank you for reading this piece.
THE INSPIRATIONAL VOICE:
I had set out to write about a husband and wife. They have 3 children, the youngest 4.
His imagination struck me and I ended up writing about this boy and his magical place, in his words “this place wakes up with pennies.”
He invited me to come with him. He gave me some pennies to put in my pocket, so I could see his place.
His body seemed to float here, a weight lifted from his shoulders, burned up by the sun, his body became weightless.
Pocket Full of Pennies
written by: Beth Tremaglio
A humid morning drags thick air into the room of a four year old boy,
who lays still on his bed, watching paint drip off worn walls and blend into a faded floor.
An unusual gust blows through a cracked window,
tales of never land fill the room,
wrap around the boy’s shoulder,
Hurriedly he dresses.
Clumsily two small hands search for a shoe box,
cleverly hid under his bed.
With an imaginary key he unlocks the box,
slowly removes the top, whispering to himself, “I’m rich!”
Pennies within illuminate worn walls,
faint images drawn with crayon show,
a magical place,
where paper boats float.
Greed’s war cannot keep pace with a four year old, as he bolts out the door to
his whimsical place.
the sound of clanging pennies changes to melodies,
awakens sleeping birds,
a thousand wings flutter,
rhythms fall upon the boy,
he floats in this place like a child’s rhyme.
His imagination drapes nature’s skin,
still trees bow to greet him.
Flowers sway to the sound of pennies,
fragrances fill a child’s eyes with wonder,
a spider weaves a web, only a super hero would recognize,
a shallow stream comes to life, rushes by and calls his name.
He tosses a penny, and follows,
to see this place where wishes come true.
He’s been wishing for a cape.
On lone rock he stands and tosses a fistful of pennies to the sun,
carried upward by a kind breeze.
From the sun a single ray his cape.
He runs back home filled with excitement,
his imagination leaves nature’s skin, and this place returns to slumber,
until tomorrow morning, when he returns to wake his magical place,
with pockets full of pennies and his cape.
Randomness of thoughts
Writing words, letting them live through me
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