As he watched, the rich dropped their fractions,
deductible, of course. The prideful deposited
a smear of contempt, sliding it through the slot
with ease. The guilty let slip a quick confession,
reaching as they did for the next pilgrim’s pocket.
The powerful ordered the poor box opened,
beheld its contents impassively. The confident hummed
tunes created by the clang and clatter of their coins.
One who had already lost everything that mattered
most held up the procession searching for change,
shedding her cloak, heavy as grief,
revealing her last shred of dignity to the scandaled crowd,
wrapping her gift in paper-dry hands and letting it fall,
drifting from them lightly as a sigh, heavy as a cloud.

As Jesus taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.
He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.” (Mark 12:38-44)