Green and white, blue, orange, purple. I highlighter that's pink and a metal protractor. You hold all of these together tightly and they fall out of you, like a vase holding flowers. How many times a day do I look at you, I wonder? And only now do I wonder where you came from. Where did I find you, the very first day I unpacked my desk? In the back of the kitchen cupboard, a discarded and forgotten piece from years ago. You could be thirty years old, or you could be fifty years old... you could be even older. You could have been through a great flood in the family's home or belonged to a grandmother a long time ago. I will never know, but you are beautiful and your reflections make me smile now that I have taken just one minute to stop to notice them. You are senstive to the light and the window with the long flowing screens, and the lights from the ceiling bounce off you and onto others around you. I am glad you never made a garage sale, that some guy had enough mansense to keep you around, and that you are to hold things once again.