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wo days before Exacting Clam 9 was scheduled to go to press, the poem “The Plan for Your Life” went missing. That Friday night, as the stars appeared over the pages, “Plan” was sleeping right where it should have been on page 32. When the sun rose the next morning, though, the adjacent essay “Yet More Thoughts” opened its eyes and looked across the margin and found only a blank spot where “Plan” had been.

The essay sat up and looked around. A strong wind blew across the page. “Hey,” the essay whispered, turning to its neighbor. “‘Arguments With Ibsen!’”

The essay “Arguments With Ibsen,” still sleeping, turned over on its side.

“‘Arguments!’” said “Yet More.”

“I’m sleeping,” mumbled “Arguments.”

“Have you seen ‘The Plan for Your Life?’” said “Yet More.”

“Page thirty-two.”

“I know, but the poem’s not there!” said “Yet More Thoughts.”

“Arguments” sat up on the page. “What do you mean, not there?”

“Take a look!” “Yet More” said.

“Arguments With Ibsen” stood up and walked over to page 32; “Yet More” followed. “Arguments” studied the blank space.

“There’s morning dew on the page,” said “Yet More.”

“Arguments” suddenly spun on its heels. “Where’d it go?”

“I have no idea,” blurted “Yet More.”

“We go to print tomorrow!”

“I know!” said “Yet More.”

“We have to call someone,” “Arguments” said.

The essay called the issue’s Copyright, who paged the editors, who turned out to be off-page at the time. So the Copyright called the Journal Police, who sent over a Police Essay right away; the essay was on-page by eight a.m. The essay had “Yet More” fill out a Missing Poem Report, and then it interviewed “Yet More Thoughts,” “Arguments With Ibsen,” and other nearby selections. “Attached to the Pacific” didn’t know “The Plan for Your Life,” but the story “Chicken-Cam” said it saw the poem walking around with scissors.

“Scissors?” said the Police Essay.

“It said something about ‘certain old books,’” “Chicken-Cam” told the essay.

Soon other Police Poems and Stories were on the scene, where they began a close reading of the blank page. The search seemed hopeless at first, but after a half an hour of proofing a Police Story shouted, “Tracks! I’ve got tracks!”

All of the literature rushed over to see. Sure enough, there were faint inky poem-tracks leading off the page.

The Police packed up their reading gear and followed the tracks; “Yet More” and “Arguments” tagged along. The group found more tracks on 28, and another telling smudge at the very top of page 23. The stories and essays studied the ink and then looked off the edge of the journal and out into the foggy void.

“Oh Jesus,” said “Yet More.” “You think ‘Plan’ jumped?”

The Police Essay crossed its arms. Then it said, “What’s directly below us?”

“Archives,” said a Police Sonnet. “Issues one through eight.”

“They’re climbable?”

“Absolutely—if we’re careful,” said the sonnet.

The Police Essay turned to “Yet More” and “Arguments” and said, “We’re going to climb off the edge and see what we can see.”

“We’re going with you,” said “Yet More Thoughts.”

“Excuse me?” said “Arguments With Ibsen,” glaring at “Yet More.”

“I am, at least,” “Yet More” told the detective.

“Arguments” sighed. “Me too,” it said.

One by one, the cluster of poems, stories and essays climbed off this issue and down onto the adjacent issues stacked below. The Police Essay spotted tracks on the edge of Issue Seven, and a few minutes later “Yet More” pointed out fresh ink on a dog-eared page of Issue Four. “Those are poemprints,” said the Police Essay. “Let’s try there.” The writing assembled at the Table of Contents of Exacting Clam 4 and began walking through it—past “The End of All Fiction,” “The Post Office Box,” and other selections. But then, about halfway through the book, the Police Essay suddenly stopped the group and told them to quiet down. “Listen!” the essay said. “You hear that?”

The literature listened.

“What is it?” said “Yet More.”

“Is it singing?” said “Arguments.”

It was. The writing followed the song; soon they were running towards it. “It’s ‘Happy Birthday!’” huffed the Police Story.

Two pages over, the group came upon a literary cluster of ten or eleven selections in a variety of genres—including “The Plan for Your Life”—milling about on the page. Some of the writing was wearing party hats and holding paper plates.

“‘The Plan for Your Life!’” shouted “Yet More.”

The chatter stopped and everyone turned to face them.

“Hey!” said “The Plan for Your Life” to “Yet More” and “Arguments.” “What are y’all doing here?”

“What are we doing here?” said “Yet More.” “We’re looking for you! Where have you been?”

“I told you, I was going to a party,” said “The Plan for Your Life.” “It’s “Encounter With a Text/Context”’s birthday.” The poem gestured to a nearby story, which smiled and waved.

“A party?” said “Arguments.” “We called the Police! We filed a Missing Poem Report! We worried you might be—”

“What?” said “The Plan for Your Life.” “Might be what?”

“We just had no idea where you were,” said “Yet More.”

“But I left the note,” said “Plan.”

“What note?” said “Yet More.”

“I put a sticky note right on my page,” said the poem.

“Well, we didn’t find it,” said “Arguments.”

“Maybe it blew away or something,” “Yet More” said.

“You know we go to print tomorrow,” said “Arguments.”

“That’s why I left the note,” said “Plan.” “So you wouldn’t worry!”

“Arguments” shook his head in frustration.

“I’m really sorry,” said “Plan.”

“Come on,” said “Arguments,” gesturing to the page prior. “Let’s go home.”

“But we were just about to have cake,” said an essay wearing a party hat.

“And there’s plenty if you want some,” said “Encounter.”

“Yet More” looked at “Arguments.”

“I’ll have some cake,” the Police Essay said.

All the writing had cake. Then “Plan” gave “Encounter” a hug, and the selections from Issue Nine left the party with the Police and began walking back through Issue Four. Soon they’d reached the edge of the book, where they carefully climbed up the stack and back onto their issue. The three selections thanked the Police literature and hiked back to their section. By then the moon had risen and the pages were getting dark. “The Plan for Your Life” apologized to its neighbors again and settled down on page 32. Within minutes, the poem was fast asleep.