Pockets

You never quite got my odd fascination

for pockets.

But I have this way of storing music

in imaginary hard drives

that I keep in the pockets

at the sides of my bags,

at the back of my pants,

and somewhere in between the creases

of my shirt.

So on days

when things seem a little too much,

and a little more than all my pockets could bear,

I will have an orchestra ready to bring me back

to places that make me smile.

Like that guitar strum from when you asked me out,

that Cream record we hummed together subconsciously,

the playlist from our first road trip.

You probably don’t hear much from me on a rainy day,

and I’m almost always never equipped with rain boots and slogan-filled umbrellas

to protect myself.

But you’ll most certainly catch me

reaching into my pockets,

meeting you somewhere halfway.