Her Father Saved String

— Nancy Meyer

Careful at the street corner
my mother shifts off her titanium hip,

looks down. What gleams
in the gutter—slender, silver?

She thrills, like a prospector
working a played-out seam.

Not a condom wrapper or a nail.
A drapery hook.

For months, her living room curtains
hang slack for want of one.

Why waste money on a pack of six?
Yankee thrift shows character.

Her arthritic knee glides
when she bends to retrieve the prize,

holds steady back home
climbing up the old wood step stool.

Faded linen pleats fall
true once more.

One thought on “Her Father Saved String

  1. My goodness, this is just like my parents! I am not sure how or when we lost this sense of thrift! What is palpable is the woman’s glee in finding such an unexpected treasure.

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