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
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.