Legal Tender

It survived the heavy cycle of the wash,

a crumpled scrap of luck inside my pocket.

It feels like skin that’s been too long in rain,

or a rag used to clean a silver locket.

The green is fading where the center folds.

I smooth it on the quilt beside my knee,

checking the frayed, white edges of the bill

to see if it’s enough for milk and tea.

It isn't paper; it’s a stubborn weave

of linen dirtied by a thousand hands.

I pinch the corner, feeling how it gives,

a limp little ghost of all the day's demands.