Spoon

asleep in a spoon

The nothingness is too much,

as i sleep inside

this aging spoon.

a sliver womb, or helpless palm.

the reflection is distorted

in the larger-than-life eye

of the dipped curve.

i've got to stay here,

inside this hug

of cold polished metal.

don't scald me with soup,

or gobble me up with your kix;

but now im awake,

although i wish to slumber.

the marks of the dish washer,

the smudges of little mouths

keep me company in the dark

of the wooden drawer.