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      January 12, 2024Ain’t My Penny No MoreHaley Jameson

      In a small town
      somewhere South
      somewhere East
      where there were more corn
      and more green beans
      than people,
      I asked my brother
      about his dreams.
      He told me,
      “You gotta get out soon,
      start planning now
      or you’ll be stuck here.”
      “Like you?”
      “Like me,” and he
      plodded along with his back
      hunched low
      and his hoe cutting deep.
      From a distance,
      he looked no different
      than a workhorse.
      I started working odd jobs,
      delivery here
      grocery clerk there,
      and I started putting
      everything into my porcelain
      piggy.
      But Daddy got sick,
      so I gave Mama
      half my savings.
      So I gave Mama
      all my savings.
      I had to pick up the slack
      help lift the burden
      ’cause Daddy couldn’t work
      no more.
      But I could.
      Daddy had something
      growing inside him
      something bad
      something big
      and it was hungry,
      just like we were.
      And it ate Daddy,
      took all the meat
      off his bones
      until he was just a skeleton
      and then it ate his bones, too.
      “That’s one less mouth to
      feed,” Mama said
      and I agreed.
      So I started saving up again.
      My brother’s hunched back
      got permanent,
      and he didn’t talk to me no
      more about leaving.
      He started showing me how
      to farm
      just like Daddy showed him.
      But I knew if I picked up that
      hoe,
      I ain’t gonna be getting out of
      here no more.
      I saved every penny I could
      said I gotta keep saving
      while the savings were mine.
      But then Mama got sick.
      So I gave my brother
      half my savings.
      So I gave him
      all my savings.
      I had to pick up the slack
      carry the burden on both
      shoulders now.
      Mama had swallowed the
      whole ocean
      and it filled up her lungs
      and no matter how much she
      coughed
      she just couldn’t get that
      water back out.
      It swallowed her,
      too.
      “That’s one less mouth to
      feed,” my brother said
      and I agreed
      and he handed me that hoe
      and I took it.

      from #82 – Winter 2023

      Haley Jameson

      “I journal through poetry. I’ll write about a mundane event or follow a train of thought to the end. It’s healing to get it out of my head and see it written down in front of me, whether it makes sense or not.”