she began
to count the money
almost in hand.
emptying the tea pots,
the jars,
shaking each book free
of dollar bills.
she begged to know where
it all was.
her inheritance.
where did she keep
her mad money.
buried in the yard,
stuffed in some attic box?
surely there must be more.
she thought,
standing over the unmarked
grave, still warm.
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