Sharpened Three Times

Nov 3 2015

A pencil achieves its ideal length

when it has been sharpened three times.

The way it rests

in the fleshy web

of finger/thumb,

easy balance

perfect heft.

My finger runs

its stubby nub

of dully glistening lead;

so silky smooth

to paper’s rough,

so lovely to impress.

Hard letters

softly smudged,

lined foolscap

3-hole punched.

Like a connoisseur

of fine cigars,

slowly rolling

loosely gripped.

8 faces, length-wise

are stepped like little cogs;

regular as clock-work

back-and-forth in time.

My mind, free to wander,

while finger-tips

are on their own.

Not round, or it would roll

under desks

across the floor.

Bite marks, in splintered wood

flecks of yellow paint.

I tap my lip

with fleshy tip,

sit and wonder

pencil-in,

scribble, picture, write.

The pink eraser

leaves a paper trail

of greyly scrubbed mistakes;

flubs absolved, rubber rubbing,

forgiveness granted

confessing nothing.

The sweet spot

between sharp and dull

where graphite flows.

A medium pencil's

cherished length

to have and hold.

The opening lines came from a short whimsical piece about pencils in the latest New Yorker (by Mary Norris; Nov 9 2015). Apparently, there are aficionados of pencils, historians of pencil-making, and virtuosos of perfect sharpness. I find this delightful: the love of the mundane and utilitarian; the attention to infinitesimal detail. This is the appeal of the eccentric, the hobbyist, the esoteric.

I read these lines and naturally thought "what is it that makes this length ideal?" ...and so the poem got its start.

In going from cigar-making to clock-work, the mixed metaphor in the middle stanza may be a problem. And I'm not sure if this line -- forgiveness granted/ confessing nothing -- is necessary. Does it may interrupt the flow of the poem? Is it more about cleverness than content? Other than that, I think I'd have preferred a more conversational voice: I find the rhymes a little busy, the sentence structure a little abrupt.

What I do like is the natural progression from the nicely worn nub to the pink eraser. And how the last 3 lines call back to the opening quote, closing the poem by bringing it full circle.