MEASURE

We lived on coins, counting pennies and nickels before walking to the Episcopal Church off Locust Street for supper. There was joy in dropping our last quarter into the coffee can for the poor, trusting something would come back around. Afterward, we wandered to the overpass, slipping beneath concrete ribs, settling onto oil-stained cardboard. Above us, cars rushed east and west, unseen but relentless. Below us, it was silent. You reached for me, drawing me close. Our breath held its own weight. I lay still, aware of your warmth, trying to measure what was real and what I had imagined.