By Dorene O’Brien

Stones, wrappers, spent gum, broken shells, dollar bills soft from the wash.

As a child I abused my pockets—crumpled leaves, melted chocolate, unwrapped candy, leaky pens—and as a teen I filled them: movie stubs, bus tickets, cigarette butts, bottle caps, lip gloss, condoms.

When I finally grew up and got married, I learned the value of a purse, which is like 20 pockets combined: wallet, telephone, tissue, hairbrush, lotion, notebook, perfume, aspirin. But I had never fully relinquished my obsession with pockets, though when I found her number in my husband’s, I wished I had.

“I write to satisfy my curiosity about how the world works, and how I work.” – the author

3 thoughts on “Pockets

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