Last years pocket
You never know it is
the last time
in the season
that you will
hang up a winter coat.
Maybe you didn't.
Maybe you threw it over a chair-
but the days got warmer
and the coat was hung
in the back of the closet.
Time passes;
the chill returns;
the coat comes out.
The pockets:
a window back
to what was important
on that last
chilly day of spring.
Ticket stubs from a movie night.
A receipt from a date for afternoon coffee.
Cheerios.
A kleenex from your late-spring cold.
The thing to look in a toddler's ear,
a distraction for the wait in the pediatrician's office.
You never know it is
the last time
in the season
that you will
hang up a winter coat.
Maybe you didn't.
Maybe you threw it over a chair-
but the days got warmer
and the coat was hung
in the back of the closet.
Time passes;
the chill returns;
the coat comes out.
The pockets:
a window back
to what was important
on that last
chilly day of spring.
Ticket stubs from a movie night.
A receipt from a date for afternoon coffee.
Cheerios.
A kleenex from your late-spring cold.
The thing to look in a toddler's ear,
a distraction for the wait in the pediatrician's office.
1 Comments:
At 12:03 PM,
Nomad said…
This is my favorite - absolute favorite - poem you've written. I adore it. Sigh of happiness at the beautiful simplicities of life.
Отправить комментарий
<< Home