You can't save time
in a coat.
Prick your finger
on the memories
cold and sharp
in the pocket.
An explosion of sensation
as a years worth of strength
crumbles
propelling you back
in an instant of emotion
as you hold
four silver nails and
one tiny red Christmas light.
There is always a crumpled tissue
in the other pocket.

This teenage coat
that won't go away,
bought for style
but cursed with denim's
longevity.
But, you cannot hold time
in a coat.

It's cold outside.
Hide the nails in a
moving box,
hurl the miniature bulb
hard,
hard enough to send it
back in time.
Ping, ping
it ricochets around
like it did in memory.
Shrug into vintage coat
and get on with it.

Mother blamed the cat
she said the cat it was who knocked the jar
down on the floor
a salad dressing jar, Marie's
with a label from a box of nails
that said what kind of nails they are
but in that swept-up pile of glass
were just three mismatchd rusty nails
and the red and tiny Christmas light
which seems to be around a lot these days

Very good noodle boy. The title, "The Other Jar"? H.

There was only the one jar....but not anymore !

vintage coat
vintage Holly. Thanks for offering a new poem.
You bring simple metaphors to your work in subtle and seemingly humble ways. But the paradox is that they always feel very personal and so powerful.
Steve

where ya been?

Holly:

Nicely expressed sentiment without unnecessary melodrama. Good to see you back here...and good to see you haven't lost your touch.

Joe

Hey Ducky, thank you very much. I just calls 'em like I sees 'em. H.

Terry, I have been lost for a little while. I have also been without any Internet service. I am in Big D for a couple of days so I am on now. I miss you guys very much. H.

Joe, I save the drama for the rest of my life. I am very happy to be back albeit only temporarily. I would like to go home but I don't have one yet. No matter how many times I tap the heels of my ruby slippers, I can't seem to get there. H.