Everything Costs Something

“Everything costs something,”  the old woman said, shook her head

And pulled her hand away from the brand new hat and gloves I proffered.

“ I have more at home,”  I tried to make her understand.

“A gift,” I said “I just thought that you look cold.”

I hadn’t much then myself, but Utah winter had bit her till she bled in spots

And I had the old ones, still no holes at all, at my journey’s end.

“They’re free.” I pushed them towards her, once again.

“Everything costs something,” she repeated, more forceful this time

And rustled in her pile of shopping cart treasures .

We settled on a battered dictionary whose brittle, yellow pages

I still sometimes slowly turn

Searching for the meanings of some forgotten word.

 

“Everything costs something’”

No equivocation here,

Sitting as I do now,

Old as she was then

poised between  my  unwashed dishes

and the story filled pages of one more ending day.

I watch  last week’s dust bunnies be chased by today’s tufts of  golden retriever hair,

And  balance my bank account.

I Weigh the Time and money spent here

Against dreams I cherished there, and search the numbers

Each subtraction at a time

hoping to find myself again

Somewhere

On the balance line.

CC