I realize that picking a favorite poem can border on the impossible. But, it allows us to search through our memories as we might search through the boxes we discover as we clean the attic – letting each old letter or photo or dried flower reenter our consciousness and make us happy or sad, or perhaps young again or strong. These memories, these poems, remind us who we are, where we’ve been and maybe provide a glimpse of where we’re going.
Or, maybe a poem is just a poem, and maybe that’s enough.
Thanks to everyone who has shared the poems in their pockets.
********************
“My grandfather was a stern, pretty forbidding man – he’s German, it comes with the territory - although a really great grandfather...









