94poems/needle

He always laughed at me in stores for wanting, not the things the stores sold, but the solutions dealing with the items therein, the means of containment.
I thought of this in the bead store as I picked up the plain little wooden box labeled needle case, contemplating if I needed it, or merely admired it. As I studied it, I remembered and said out loud to the woman at the counter, “Oh, because bead people use those long wispy needles.” The words sprung to my lips, book people use short thick ones, but she had such a disinterested expression about her, so familiar I knew to gather my words back in, like children in my skirts, before they became audible. My genetic pre-disposition toward righteous indignation was stirred, but I drew that in too, thinking what a thing – a woman who doesn’t want to talk about her tools.

8/24/94