Deep Pockets

I folded up my dream

and put it in my pocket
it would've been just as safe
in my purse
but
i wanted it closer
on my person
as to have it touching me
at all times

I carried it around
feeling complete
this small stowaway
not the object
but
the representative
of my affection

There were definitely challenges
to the carrying
of this coveted cargo
the washing machine
the dry cleaner
the crinkled positioning
of my boot cut jeans
on the dressing room floor
a few times
it almost met the fate
of my late
but great
debit card (RIP)

One might picture it
bundled in that square denim pouch
as a folded piece
of looseleaf
or
a yellow rectangle
made by 3M

It did begin
in that form factor
much like a grocery list
or a gas station receipt
you shove in the space
near your waist

But I remember the day

after the day

I had first put it in my pocket

that was the day

I met you

and

the only thing

i wanted to do

was edit

my dream

So I drew the paper token

out of my black

heavily lined slacks

and unfolded it

in all it's splendor

my pen in hand

and as my eyes

moved toward the bottom

to my surprise I see

the words are already there

written

plain as day

verbatim to the beat of my heart

I know why I felt I had to carry

my dream in my pocket

back then

it was because my dream

was always changing

morphing

into what it was

I hadn't known yet

It was as if

I needed a reminder

of what could be

of what I had been living for

Today

my pockets

are full of

quarters

and

business cards

and...

certainty.