Poem: Spooning


by Elyse Bekins


i suppose I was once the innards of a tree

the flesh even.        but I don’t remember that.

i can only remember when you found me.

when you picked me out of all the others 

at IKEA.          we all looked the same.

but you, you chose me as the one for the job.


the one to stir your ratatouille

the one to use to fish out a noodle. 

firm or al dente. i take on the flavors 

of whatever you cook.

my porous nature distinguishes me

from my cousin.         the metal one.


i will be with you many years if you’ll have me.

i’ll be there, in your first city apartment

where merely having me there

makes you say once that you finally 

feel like a real adult.

and i’ll be there, tending your turkey gravy 

on your first thanksgiving away from home.

and i’ll be there, when you cook for him 

for the first time, stirring your pomodoro sauce. 

scraping up every last bit. 


it is true that i will become discoloured. 

my edges worn, and my curves

oddly misshapen.

i will start to smell strongly of onions.

but i can still do the job

i am loyal

i am essential

i am your spoon. 

Print Friendly, PDF & Email