The Wallet on the Dresser

Lyrics

The sun ain't up, but the dark is gone.
Just that grey light, that April morning light.
Room's cold. Smells like leather, and time.
And there it sits. On the pine.

Your billfold. Dark brown, worn smooth at the edges.
Got that curve in it, from your back pocket.
The shape of you, still held in the hide.
My hand shakes, just a little, when I pick it up.
Heavy with copper. Heavy with yesterday.

This is the accounting. The final book.
Not what you earned, just what you took
with you, every morning.
A few worn bills, a driver's license photo from '98.
The little bits of paper that say you were here.
A life summed up. Held right here.

I slide it open. That little tearing sound of old vinyl windows.
There you are. Twenty years younger, smiling for the DMV.
Hair was darker then. Eyes didn't have that mileage.
And tucked behind you, laminated, dog-eared...
Our little girl on the swing set, summer of '04.
Her teeth all missing. Her smile worth more
than all the rest of it.

This is the accounting. The final book.
Not what you earned, just what you took
with you, every morning.
A few worn bills, a driver's license photo from '98.
The little bits of paper that say you were here.
A life summed up. Held right here.

A crumpled receipt for an oil change back in March.
The Jiffy Lube on Main Street.
A loyalty card for the Kroger. Points you never spent.
These dollars... worn thin as a prayer.
George Washington lookin' tired.
How many hands did they pass through, to get to yours?
How many pockets did they warm before this one?
What did they buy? Gas for the Ford. A gallon of milk.
The small, holy transactions of a Tuesday.

I fold it closed. Put it back on the dresser.
Right next to the water glass, half-full.
The light is stronger now.
The dust is dancing.
The wallet just sits.
Holding its peace.
Holding your place.