Spoons, An Appreciation
Ah, the romance of spoons. Their goodness.
How they fit together, how they lie together, hip to hip,
spooning comfortably in that slender bed, the drawer.
I believe in spoons, their essential good nature.
They are the gentlest of the utensils.
Knives cut; forks jab, but spoons cradle.
The knife slices meat. The fork skewers it.
But the spoon is oval and holds sips.
It is the utensil of moderation, of cure,
spoonfuls of medicine, spoons full of care.
A spoon will never hurt you, never jab nor cut you.
There is no blood in the history of the spoon.
Spoons are the sexiest of the utensils,
feminine and rounded, all curve and camber.
Knives are phallic and forks are aggressive, toothy,
but spoons are the shapes of breasts and buttocks.
To knife is to pierce, to fork is to branch out,
but to spoon is to make love, cuddle together.
The gentle spoon, to be spoon fed like a child.
Spoons are the utensils of babies.
The spoon conserves, contains, mothers.
"Spoons, An Appreciation" appeared in Alchemy;
a slightly revised version appeared in Poet Lore.