It really looks like any ordinary pocket. Leather. Silk inside. All day it hugs the messenger bag it’s stitched against; hugs it like a little baby boy,

arms all stretched out, ready to love the whole world
that could never
ever
fit into his tiny arm span.
But he does it anyway.

That’s how this pocket sits.

And it keeps sitting there and it keeps sitting there, sleeping all the way to my classes. I open all my other pockets for pencils, for erasers, for binders and pens, but not that one pocket. It looks up at me with its invisible little boy eyes, whispers

Lori, I can feel you when you walk
And when you start walking slow and straight
Against the hall,
I know it’s time you sit with me
So we can smile and laugh and play
And you can be happy again

And I just laugh in response, telling myself that yes, it’s about that time. I’m in need of a glimmer of Spontaneous Happy, a sliver of something small

and beautiful;
like rain drops on a spider web
or a sleepy sun ray through the glass
or a little pocket
full of laughter
and joy
and love
and hope

that so many forget to have.