The following poem was inspired from a story by Christine Miserandino that attempts to elucidate what it’s like for people living with sickness and disability. You can read her story by following the link: Spoon Theory.
Where the Spoons Roam
by Be Heij
Is it possible to find a spoon in a line of poetry?
Lying, hidden there somewhere beneath the allusive alliteration.
Or maybe lost in a cluster of stampeding forks,
trying to poke its curved edge above the many stinging points?
How do the healthy handle their spoons?
Firmly? Or, quickly lost in the game?
Well, how do the wealthy handle theirs?
Forged from plastic? Or, carefully carved from life?
May a spoon be situated in song,
floating silently across the reverberating rhythm?
Or maybe growing in a garden,
standing proudly amongts the cacophony of dandelions.
How do the fauna face their supply of spoons?
Silly Question, fauna aren’t civilized!
Well, how do the flora find spoons without legs?
Silly Question, flora aren’t mouth-eaters!
Could you encounter a spoon adventuring through tales?
Finding itself in the swift swashbuckle of playful prose.
Or maybe there’s one, twisted in thought,
calling for the searing sacrifice of mindless routine.
Final question (believe it or not):
From where does the spoon river flow,
and where does it lead?
Always high towards always low.
Will spoon panning be necessary?
Or another blunder by the “forty-niners”?
I know what you’re thinking,
but will the spoons ever stop coming?