Homesick

Sometimes,
in the stray moments of a passing day-
between paying the bus fare
and finding a seat-
I find myself staring
at the candy colored currency that occupies my billfold
and the shiny brass coins of this foreign land.

I long for the certainty of the greenback of my childhood.
The unassuming grey green ink,
all cut to the same size;
the thin grey disks of different diameters,
that my fingers recognize without my fumbling eyes.

Washington, Roosevelt, Jefferson, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson,
accompanying me through the streets
and into shops,
exchanging hands at the farmer's market, yard sale, for the Craig's List find.
I'll give you a bit of history I learned in school
if you'll give me the comfort of old habits,
known foods, and familiar culture,
both the good and the bad.