An Ode to Emptied Pockets

I pulled the lint from my pockets
and called you mine.
In the chance of there being nothing left,
I appoint you as heir to this misery.
Seeing that you had left the soil
to garden the city streets,
I will honor you
with floods of rain.
The river will raise your sunken grave,
and your urn will float
into the dreams of starving children.

©2013 Jessica Stephenson All Rights Reserved


About inpotentia

Hold Fast.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to An Ode to Emptied Pockets

  1. Kyle says:

    Love this one!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s