Pocket of Kindness Been almost ten years since her passing. I aged overnight and also haven’t a day. I’ve stood in the same corner heart resting palm my open hands. am no juggler anyone will tell it doesn’t take one but found hard to keep from falling floor every now then as those oblivious me (and throbbing object palms) storm past unaware whether they step on (or one fingers) while scramble piece back together. takers for it. It’s keep. It was with all twenty-six years it’s been under custody only she began slipping out Empty empty-handed I thought best occupy restless hands with. ‘Here care like you would if were mine.’ But isn’t. mine has takers. Perhaps too rusty scarred hideous off-putting. don’t know. She’d kept safe these years tucked away pocket kindness that had bottom. If someone just stick around hold look fallen pieces dust them off put together or they’d affix some bandages still palms could eventually where really needs go. can’t walls are abrasive hurting. moment rest – hurt too.