by Sharisa Aidukaitis
my thanks to the designer
of these pants, specifically for the
pockets that stretch past my wrists,
expanding to accommodate
rocks and pinecones and leaves
amassed by small hands in the park;
toy racecars at the dentist’s office;
snack wrappers not thrown on the floor;
waiting and used tissues;
too-itchy admission wristbands;
too-tight hair scrunchies;
hastily folded crayon sketches;
stickers that fell off unsuspecting shirts;
lego bricks and action figures;
(but not the unfortunate potato bug—
there we draw the line);
and at the end of the day
I remove the trash
and unclaimed treasures
and replace them with my hands,
relinquished in admiring observation
of sleeping frames who may someday
rely on their own pockets
Sharisa Aidukaitis is a writer and college educator in upstate New York. Her poems have appeared in dozens of print and online journals, including Trampoline, Moss Piglet, The Quarter(ly), Metphrastics, Ivo Review, and others.
January House Literary Journal 
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