Pocket Full of Plans

I had a pocket full of plans.

I carried them around.

I’d pat them every now and then

to know they were safe and sound.

I had a pocket full of lists

and a pocket full of clocks.

I had reminders in my shoes

and sticky notes in my socks.

But somehow things kept slipping out.

They rolled beneath the bed.

The names, the dates, the library books,

The things I’d never said.

“I guess,” I sighed,

“I’m built all wrong.

My pocket has a hole.”

A little friend looked up at me

and laughed until they rolled.

“No pocket ever

held the world.

No pocket ever could.”

“I can help hold things for you

until their understood.”

“I know!”

said another.

“We’ll tie a string

around your toe.”

“Because,” he said,

“You might forget…

but toes

just seem to know.”

One friend smiled,

“Your don’t have to hold it all…

come borrow some of me.”

And funny thing—

the hole remained.

We never stitched it shut.

But my friends were there

to catch my prayers

without an if, and, or but.

By Mandy Parida

These poems are part of a growing collection celebrating friendship, belonging, and wonderfully different minds.

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