Packet of tissues, broken sunglasses, Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing, chapstick, reading light, student papers, roll of mints, phone, apple gone bad, office key, house key, two pens, hairbrush.
I've missed you and your writing so dearly. There was a big orange moon setting upon campus yesterday; I was reminded of our class and hoped you'd caught it, too -- a starfield away. Like Phoebe, I want to "pocket" your stories for life! ❤️
Pockets! It is always about them. And while not all pockets are equal-- some are superb!
I told my family never to give my clothes away when I die before checking the pockets. Your essay has me pondering how much I gave away and took for granted--- without checking the pockets. Back to my closet of memories for a closer look. Just a wonderful piece-- and your timing could not be better for me.
What a wonderful essay. I missed your voice, always full of humor and life and love. When you wrote, “And we are, all of us, sloshing around organs and sinew and blood, more container than blade,” it reminded me of this great moment in Brian Doyle’s “Joyas Voladoras": “Unicellular bacteria have no hearts at all; but even they have fluid eternally in motion, washing from one side of the cell to the other, swirling and whirling. No living being is without interior liquid motion. We all churn inside.” We do; it’s true. We churn. We long for pockets, for dear friends, for great writing, all of which we get here. What a gift.
I pocket you and I love you. I’m sewing this essay into my commonplace heart.
I've missed you and your writing so dearly. There was a big orange moon setting upon campus yesterday; I was reminded of our class and hoped you'd caught it, too -- a starfield away. Like Phoebe, I want to "pocket" your stories for life! ❤️
And I yours, always always!
…pockets are awesome…imaging a world without them…yeesh…
The horror. No one should be pocketless again.
Pockets! It is always about them. And while not all pockets are equal-- some are superb!
I told my family never to give my clothes away when I die before checking the pockets. Your essay has me pondering how much I gave away and took for granted--- without checking the pockets. Back to my closet of memories for a closer look. Just a wonderful piece-- and your timing could not be better for me.
Alissa, beautiful and evocative as you are and as you write.
And this: “Certain friendships become another kind of pocket, too.”
A line I won’t be able to shake, gladly.
The pocket of your friendship is always warm, James.
I love the thought of you slipping your hands in all those pockets on a treasure-hunt of sorts :)
Alissa,
What a wonderful essay. I missed your voice, always full of humor and life and love. When you wrote, “And we are, all of us, sloshing around organs and sinew and blood, more container than blade,” it reminded me of this great moment in Brian Doyle’s “Joyas Voladoras": “Unicellular bacteria have no hearts at all; but even they have fluid eternally in motion, washing from one side of the cell to the other, swirling and whirling. No living being is without interior liquid motion. We all churn inside.” We do; it’s true. We churn. We long for pockets, for dear friends, for great writing, all of which we get here. What a gift.