L.T.K’s Friendship Bracelet

T. made me a paperclip bracelet
when we were sixteen.
I store it in a glass jar
with other bric-a-brac:
welded metal, dead coral,
a rubber hamburger
the size of a thumbnail.

People who don’t know her
nowadays whitewash her “L.”
but my pretty child sits
preserved in color on my desk
and she pinches my wrist
lest I forget
how whimsical the world once was,
albeit barbed.

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