#NationalPoetryMonth – #SummerMagic – DeepPockets

 

Today’s offering returns to the Mac at Ten section of Summer Magic. Hope you enjoy the images I tried to capture. 🙂

Deep Pockets
     by Marcia Meara

He sits cross-legged
On smooth, gray granite
Outside the tent,
And watches the light
Turn from gold to silver,
Caught in that space between
Daylight and dusk,
When all things seem possible,
And the remarkable,
Ordinary.

To hold his day
Longer, closer,
He goes through his pockets,
And chooses memories
To save forever.
He lays out treasures
Found on the trail,
One by one,
In neat rows upon the rock,
And studies each item with
Solemn consideration,
Weighing the merits
Of this over that.

It takes time to decide
Which to take home,
Which to show his mother,
And which he will line up
Along his shelves,
To be looked at
Again and again,
On dreary, gray days
When the warmth of summer
Is a visitor long departed.
Decisions like these
Aren’t made in a moment,
But rather, by pondering
Carefully, thoughtfully.

Here, a feather
Of startling blue,
Found beneath a jay’s
Untidy nest.
And this? This rumpled,
Transparent length,
Imprinted by the scales
Of the snake it once clothed?
His mother will squeal
In pretend horror,
But will smile and relent.
Yes, he thinks.
I’ll keep this one, too.

One by one,
They come out of his pockets
Like rabbits from a magician’s hat.
Pale, blue stones rubbed smooth in the creek.
A snail shell whirled in cream and tan,
Thin as tissue, yet still intact.
A triangular piece of glittery flint,
Sharp and pointed along one side,
Like an arrowhead left unfinished.
Yes, to all of these!
They are mine now,
Part of my summer.

Pockets turned out
To the bottom, he finds —
Half a stick of linty gum,
A rusty key, stuck
In a broken lock.
A pencil stub,
A whistle that doesn’t blow,
And a few unidentified crumbs.
No, and no, and no.

He’s made his choices,
And tucked them away,
In an old plastic box, under his cot.
Maybe he’ll look at them
Long years from now,
Conjuring up these weeks
Spent camping with his dad,
When every day was an adventure,
Captured in the blue of a feather,
Caught in the curve of a shell,
Or a piece of glittery flint.
He’ll think about these
Endless summers, and remember
How simple it all seemed,
When he was a boy
Of ten.

Buy Summer Magic Here: Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

My poems have also appeared in the following Silver Birch Press Anthologies: 

Noir Erasure Poetry Anthology (Silver Birch Press Anthologies Book 5) Kindle Edition http://amzn.to/2B8jhWX

Summer: An Eclectic Anthology of Poetry & Prose (Silver Birch Press Anthologies Book 3) Kindle http://amzn.to/2BhzE4q

SILVER: An Eclectic Anthology of Poetry & Prose (Silver Birch Press Anthologies) Kindle Edition http://amzn.to/2A3XxPb

Green: An Eclectic Anthology of Poetry & Prose (Silver Birch Press Anthologies Book 2) Kindle Edition http://amzn.to/2jTQsdt

 

10 thoughts on “#NationalPoetryMonth – #SummerMagic – DeepPockets

  1. Beautiful Marcia, I do so feel along with the ten year old boy.
    It is wonderful to go around and find these treasures, I did as a girl and still do now. Can’t resist.
    I particularly fell for these lines :
    “When every day was an adventure,
    Captured in the blue of a feather,
    Caught in the curve of a shell,
    Or a piece of glittery flint. ”

    Miriam

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you so much, Miriam. Yes, I think young Mac captures the heart and soul of the way I felt, both as a child, and like you, even now. I bring home things from my rambles all the time, and they never cease to make me smile. So glad you liked this one. Thanks for letting me know, too. 🙂 ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes! That sense of wonder is what I’ve wanted each of his poems to show, in one way or another. The pure, unadulterated joy of a ten-year-old, discovering all the treasures of the world, and reveling in each moment! That’s the part that is too easy to lose as we grow up. Here’s hoping we always feel that way after every walk! (I could probably manage to pass by the broken lock and the whistle that doesn’t blow, but most of those other things, I’d surely pick up! 😀 )

      Believe it or not, I even have the jawbone of a gar on my bookshelf, pointy little teeth and all. It was clean and carried no odor at all, and I liked the shape of it, so home it came. 😀 (In case you call them something else, gar are freshwater fish in the pike family. Long, slim, and spotted, with a long, narrow jaw.) I also have a bunch of pottery shards and some petrified bones I found on an old dig site, that had been bulldozed over. There are traces of blackened, burned on food on some of the pottery bits. They aren’t rare and have no significant value to museums and the like, but they are treasures to me. And they are hundreds of years old, from what was once a midden mound.

      Like

      • I didn’t know what a gar was. I’m glad you told me as I was thinking it had something to do with alligator’s and my mind was boggling a bit!
        It was a sheep’s skull my son brought home – and boiled in my soup pot to clean it!

        Liked by 1 person

        • I had a feeling you might not recognize that one. Luckily, I didn’t have to clean it at all. It’s considerably smaller than a sheep’s skull, for one thing, and it was bleached yellow by the sun already. I was free to indulge my love of this kind of thing, with no drawbacks. Unless you count having the jawbone of a gar on your library bookshelves a drawback. Happily, I don’t. 😀

          Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much, Lynn. I’ve always loved descriptive writing and it makes me happy to think you appreciate my efforts to paint pictures with words. Yes, I know MacKenzie Cole pretty well now, both the boy he was and the lost man he became before love stepped in and saved him. And I especially know (and love) the man he is today, so far removed from the troubled soul he’d become. He’s very real to me. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed meeting him as a boy! 🙂 ❤ Thanks, again!

      Liked by 1 person

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