The paper crinkle between my fingers.
The lost, valuable trash that had fluttered up at me
flapped in the crisp, biting breeze.
The dull, familiar colors of purple and green are what I recognized first.
Then the well-known monument jumped up at me,
begging to be recognized.
I looked left, right, left before cautiously folding up the parchment

that would buy me my first meal in—
How long had it been? Too long, I decided.


A smile, the first in a while, stretched my face
into an unfamiliar expression
as an unfamiliar emotion coursed through me.
My stomach growled in expectation
as I ran a hand through my long-ago washed hair.
“I guess stars can be changed,” I muttered,
patting my pocket, now worth more than I was worth myself.

There was a lightness in my step
as I walked away from that gray, forlorn lot.
A feeling unfamiliar fueled my before-empty chest.
Hope, I realized, putting a name to the feeling.
I knew I must look ridiculous,
a raggedy, old man, more used to scowling than breathing,
my face alight with a smile,
one that showed off more than one broken tooth.

But still I hurried on,
away from that place of solitude
where I had begged so many lonely nights.
I broke into my old-man-run,
a brisk walk that drew attention to my stocky frame.
Women clutched their purses and children,
men's eyes greeted me with contempt, suspicion.
I wasn't always like this, I would silently try to explain.


And I won't be like this much longer, I decided,
clutching the miracle money in my pocket.
It was time to change my stars.