Spun

I wrote a poem. This is the poem. Please read the poem.

Spun

And sometime you just drop a spoon

And it hits the ground

And the world breaks open

And the kitchen floor begins to crack

And you can see the black

Through the broken tiles

And all the things you left unspoken

Uncurl like smoke and rise around you

The background hum you tried to silence

A sharp seductive sound

Now rising

This fallen spoon has bent the day around its concave head

This room, reflected, makes no sense

The beams of sunlight through the window,

Twist and curve

Lies and tricks to keep you straight

If they touch you they might burn you

If you stay still

You might die

Quick, shut this down

Bend and reach and grasp

This disobedient, metal tool

This tiny trickster

This little fool that ripped the afternoon in half

This so called spoon that broke your day

This tiny thing that somehow weighs

Nearly more than you can handle

Pick it up and put it back

And surely you will seal this crack

The abyss beneath this quiet life

Will shrink and fold

and leave the real world

For a while.

The hum subsides

Retreats into the background noise

Of normal life

But don’t be fooled

You’re only ever one stupid move away

From the moment

When you drop a spoon