Bobby pins:
She keeps hers
everywhere
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