in the box of paperclips on by desk
it’s a good place for you because I
can look at you when I’m telephoning
or typing a poem or putting poems in-
to the copy machine to send to maga-
zines that don’t want them I tried
putting you in the little ormolu
frame where the daguerreotype of
great-grandmother Henrietta used to
be but it didn’t suit you looked
too formal (you have lovely manners
but thank heaven you aren’t formal)
so I pushed up the paperclips in the
box and leaned you against the heap
it can’t be very comfortable ( paper-
clips are harder than hay) but you’re
smiling away as if you loved it I
hope you’re also smiling because you
love me so much you don’t care where
I keep you even in the paperclip box.
Her Reply
I like my picture to be in the box
where you keep your paperclips I
imagine that when you reach for a
clip you are reaching out for me
it’s a gesture you’ve made a thou-
sand times (whenever you’ve needed
a clip) but now I hope it has be-
come different given a new mean-
ing by my image does the movement
of your hand now plead more for me
than thought or memory can even
at this distance I feel the touch
of your fingers do they feel they
are touching me or must I become
again only the icon of my everyday
self as ordinary as your paperclips?
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