The Silver Spoon

An antiquarian silver spoon,
hidden in an old treasure shop.

A desire to caress the spoon,
to touch and feel the silver.

The spoon feels alive in her hand
as if she once touched the spoon.

An image of herself so unfamiliar,
laying down on an unknown sofa.

A dress of white adorned with
many light roses moving down.

A noise from behind awakens her,
as the book slips from her chest.

The spoon above her,
a flash of colour,
then cold nothingness.

Seeing herself dead,
looking at his face.
The man she already knows,
blood dripping from the spoon;
her fiance holds the knife.


I am packing the boxes to find old treasures that I thought didn’t exist, for I forgot about them.

I find that old black and white picture, a vase from Mum’s place with purple orchards, a trinket with sentimental value from school, and the plaster from my broken arm.

I’m thinking about the awakened memories as feelings start to rush and mess with my heartstrings.

Sniffing the items a little, I’m sneezing and crying.