Bobby pins:

She keeps hers



She leaves them next to the sink

stacks them in her car's cupholder;

puts them on our bedside table


In the morning, when she puts them in

it is a struggle:


Jammed in, then out of knots of hair

four or five of them squeezed into her pursed lips

for reserve


In the evening,

if she isn't in a hurry

she lets me take them out

one at a time