"breast pocket"
At a small table, an older woman
draws a bamboo toothpick from the breast‑pocket
of her frock, works with practiced care,
wipes it clean with a sheet from her thigh pocket,
then slips it back as the talk continues.
___
A couple on the path, mid‑argument
over something already fading,
their steps carrying them toward the pond.
Above them, the same woman, younger now,
on the second‑floor balcony,
hand rising toward her breast‑pocket,
stopping, then calling down with a tone
that reaches the lawn with ease.
He fires back without looking up,
the moment tightening, then thinning out.
#
A child at the pond’s edge,
older boys in the water,
their shouts carrying across the surface.
Shoes off, shirt open,
the child stands between caution and invitation.
From the balcony, a small motion
travels the distance.
___
Years later, a sidewalk café.
An older man finishes his meal,
reaches into the breast‑pocket of his shirt,
draws out a bamboo toothpick,
and works with the same steady rhythm
he has carried through decades.
His grandchild arrives, bright and curious.
Beside them, another figure —
middle‑aged now — lifts a hand
to their own breast‑pocket,
feeling a toothpick beneath its fabric,
the gesture settling in without voice.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 10th, 2026 05:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments7
Changes in time, differences in gender still one thing remains constant and it seems significant that it is the breast pocket. The heart is a constant my friend so subtly presented in metaphor over a series of different situations. This poem seems it could be at least partially in sepia my friend. Very nicely done and a fave.
So glad that you read that to its worth. Most appreciated, Soren 🙏🕊️
Always most welcome my friend
much enjoyed
Glad of it! Thanks friend🙏🏻🕊️
most welcome
My friend, this made me think of the little things we inherit from family members without ever consciously deciding to. A mannerism, a habit, a way of standing or speaking...and one day we catch ourselves doing it and realize where it came from. This spoke to me in a very human way. Really enjoyed it. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
And it gets passed on and maintained for however long! Thanks, my friend. 🙏🕊️
Good write A.
Thank you O.
This is such a pleasant narrative. The characters following generations after generations of similar quait habits.Very enjoyable read
Who knew out of such poems could spout. Thanks compadre 🙏🕊️
I have the same Mannerisms as my Mother.
And I like how the Story is in the Picture also.
Fine Write.
Some things just travel down the generations Rik.
Andy
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