Copper Weight

Under the door, a penny pressed,

worn green like forgotten breath.

I picked it up — warm, heavy,

a shard of time I tried to confess.

Sun hit the floorboards creaky and old,

highlighting edges dulled and cold.

Something copper, stubborn, still,

a fragment of stories left untold.

Holding it tight like a secret kept,

I let the afternoon slow, and wept.