In My Pocket

for the memory of a man.

You're a slow fade, in and out,
tidal wave, song stuck in my head
every once in a while when
the wind won't blow you away.
I forget you.
I forget.

 

But you're an itch I must scratch,
back down the spineless self
I keep tied up in ribbons
with dusty spiral bounds
and pretty postcards from the coast.
I forgot that me.
You forget me.
You forget.

 

Because once in a while,
just once in a long white while,
after the sky clears away
and out of my Pacific eyes
I try to find you up against the blanket
of darkest sky-scraper-blue midnight.
Just where you used to find me.
Just where we used
to go
to find
what must be found.

 

You used to get me.
You got me so well, so fooled,
so the folly of all your praises.
Now you just forget me.
You forget me.
I forget you.
I forget
where we used
to go
to find
what now won't be found.

 

Maybe that's a heavy burden
and maybe you don't care
who carries me anymore
or how I carry myself
or if I still carry
you
in my pocket,
saving you for just the right moment
when I don't forget you
for just long enough
to write to you
in a poem
that no one
will remember.

Reviews

[Anicca]

This is a beautiful write and shows a great deal of mixed emotion. Well done!