A country you carry in your pocket,
stays there as forgotten as pocket lint
but filters your perceptions, marks you plain when
you walk through the world, it's not only you,
your country is in your pocket, carried lightly
or heavy in its heft, gravid as you meet others
with other countries in their pockets.
Posted too late for Mama Zen's Flash Fiction 55 over in the Garden so here it is for Kerry's Open Link instead. Inspired by Brian at the dVerse Poets Pub who shared the first line in one of his posts. It got me thinking of my experiences living in Italy and traveling around Europe.
