Ode to Paperclips

poetry by RICK KEMPA

          (after Neruda)

Fern has given me
a small, square box
which she made out of glass
all by herself,

with a mirror-bottom,
lavender sides,
and a precious turquoise
butterfly lid,

and so I am afoot
throughout the house
looking for paperclips
to put in it.

Like ladybugs that swarm
by the millions
to the mountain peaks
in the summer,

they emerge to meet me:
between cushions, under rugs,
in the washing machine,
the spare-change dish.

I peel apart the dust balls
that live beneath my desk
and there they are,
pearls.

(In the closet,
the vacuum cleaner--
belly of the whale,
angel of plenty.)

Some, contorted
beyond themselves
by nervous fingers,
I reform.

Some I find
fastening papers
together, and I
do them honor.

The one on the front step
holding its ground
through comings and goings
al winter long

I leave there,
testimonial
to all paperclips
that enter.

If I ever allow my paperclip box to grow empty,
may the mirror break, the butterfly escape,
for I am not deserving.

If ever I fail to stoop for a paperclip on the loose,
may a whirlwind visit my files,
may I never get organized.

If I am ever so lost as to purchase paperclips,
may all small things that inhabit my house
desert me.

___________________________________________

about rick kempa | process statement

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