A Poem Without a Pocket
This poem has no pockets
Nowhere to put the bits and bobs
it’s collected
Nowhere to stuff the laughs or hide
the tears. Nowhere to put the
pieces of joy to savor later.
This poem has no choice but to
give them all away.
Tag: pockets
Coat Pockets
Coat Pockets
They are like mini time capsules
nestled in the seams of an old coat –
the purple one pushed to the back of a closet.
Like an archeologist, you carefully put
your hand into the slot, feeling something hard,
hearing a crunching sound, wondering
what has been buried there. The treasure clutched
between your fingers is a sticky mint, a rolled
up tissue, and a wrinkled theater ticket from
ten years ago. Reminders of a night spent with
friends laughing until you cried.
