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Image for the poem Spoons in Mid-air

Spoons in Mid-air

I will not write of her thinning arms, 

of the slowness of spoons, and I ride
every spoon, singing her mouth to open,

I will of her dancing, the jig that
she does when she preens with a dress
on days when aches stay longer in bed,


her fingers fumble inside her large bag
for pills, I see the breathing in her brows,
but she picks a smile from her bag to wear,

she has a cache of smiles in her bag,
fat and fleshy and shrieks at the scale
is the vogue I prefer to see on her,

Each spoon is a movie started and slow,
I watch each spoon moving in mid-air,
feeding her mouth engorges my heart.
Alviola
Written by Alviola
Published
Author's Note
Steve Johnson via Unsplash
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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