Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Mag 65 - Pocket Stone

Image Provided by Magpie Tales
Pocket Stones

How she hated skirts
They had no pockets
Not like the overalls
She would have lived in overalls
If Mother would have let her.

After a day of treks
In the Missouri woods
With Charlie and her brother
They would all return home
Weighted down with treasures
In their pockets
Each Taken out and talked about 
Displayed on her windowsill.

How she loved stones even then
Noticed for their odd shape
Their color or sheen
Picked up to look at closer
Kept because they fit
So nicely in her palm
Slipped so easily in her pockets
Carried as a talisman or put in potted gardens.

She thought at first it was just a piece of soap stone
But upon examination saw it was carved
A figure with birds and a gentle expression
Now worn smooth carried about
In one pocket after another
Over the years.

Now it was cargo pants
And she didn't have to beg permission to wear them
She picked up St. Francis from her dresser
Slipped him again into a pocket
Set off into the New Mexico forest with her camera
Collecting photographs
And stones.

So many walks with her Saint
So many pocket stones.

J. Binford-Bell 
May 2011

10 comments:

  1. Incredibly lovely .........

    ReplyDelete
  2. such innocence perfectly fleshed out by the narrative of this poem.

    ReplyDelete
  3. That's one I like!
    You came at the prompt from an interesting angle, a memory of childhood. Lovely.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Especially loved the mention of the Missouri woods.

    ReplyDelete
  5. playful words...

    lovely delivery.

    ReplyDelete
  6. inspiring words..
    love your take.

    check out short story slam and welcome your submission.

    ReplyDelete
  7. From skirts to overalls to cargo pants and pockets. Quite some journey purveyed in such a wonderful way.

    ReplyDelete
  8. You've done it again. Lovely! (and I know you and I have a connection to this saint).

    ReplyDelete

I appreciate all kind comments on my art and poetry.