My Dress Front Pocket

I carried memories of you in my dress front pocket today,

And I went to all the places we had been.

I looked for moments, like rocks where we stopped to seal a promise, 

Or a tree that loaned us some shade.

I looked out at the scene, still with the remnants of what was,

But with one thing less; now void of you.

I searched for the beauty in the blades of grass,

Reminding myself that they sway with or without your smile upon them.

I stopped at each I could.

The memories, at times, escaped my pocket seams,

Dancing onto the landscape before I could reach for them.

Other times, it took careful unraveling,

then they would slowly spin out onto the familiar scene; tripping then pirouetting over the details.

I let the scenes play out.

There are still memories of you in my dress front pocket,

But I’m slowly dropping them off where they were made.

Some will follow me wherever I go, but many will only dance where they now stay.