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.