Pocket Stuff

by lin h. orndorf

Stitched flat like a patch, Hidden within a seam Or a roomy front pouch where left meets right With fingers laced or crossed or flipping someone off Pockets are wonderful things

High above a breast or low on a thigh Some are deep, some shallow Some functional and real Others are completely false, An illusion of a pocket, nothing more

Pockets provide security and comfort Chapped fingers and hands retreat from the cold winter wind Staying safe and snug in the folds of a coat or in the front of blue jeans Wallets are kept handy in tight, butt pockets Maybe too handy sometimes for buying things we don’t really need nor can afford

Pockets conceal signs of who we really are Things that we carry inside Are sometimes revealed by the treasures we keep The lighters, pebbles, seashells, and string Souvenir memories of adventures and dreams Each night we empty our pockets with reverence and grace Carefully placing their contents on a nightstand, vanity, or shelf like saintly relics on a sacred altar Still safely hidden in the darkness of night

An odd paper clip The key to a lock long lost A lover’s note The shopping list scored through with a blue ink pen And coins that remain at the end of the day

A pocket knife and tiny screwdriver for repairs and amends The token from a distant city’s transit system A ticket stub from a movie, concert, or play The receipt from a first date meal or a last with a companion now gone

A list of books to read tells its own tale within a pocket’s story One of suggestion, direction, and desire Dovetailed with constraints of time, restriction of funds, resistance to conformity And fantasies tinted with regret’s patina

Fuzzy gray lint from disguises and garments once worn Mingles with white sand grains from the ocean’s edge home Of the beach glass worn down and worn smooth By the water’s perpetual motion folding and rushing onto the shore The tide empties its pockets with each receding wave Leaving its trinkets exposed on the beach Only to be collected again and again