Pocket Weight

I reached into the pocket’s fold,

a habit hard to break.

A story that remains untold,

for goodness gracious sake.

No smooth stone there, no comfort found,

just lining worn and thin.

The year I carried it around,

where did that feeling begin?

It fit my palm, a quiet friend,

a weight against my thigh.

A comfort till the very end,

beneath a passing sky.