A Forgotten Pocket

Stiff wool hung on thrift store racks,

faded threads and dusty cracks.

Slip the coat on, sleeves too long,

a weight inside that feels so wrong.

Fingers dig the hidden space,

a folded note, a yellowed place.

Edges soft as dried-up leaves,

scribbled words one barely breathes.

Half-erased and worn with time,

a secret lost, a hidden rhyme.

Who left this here? What did they say?

Now ghosted paper fades away.

The coat folds close around my frame,

a borrowed life without a name.

I wear the weight, I hold the past,

a forgotten pocket built to last.