The Loving Spoon (An Original Poem)

The Loving Spoon

This morning I poured honey into my favorite spoon,

the thick, heavy silver one with words engraved in the bowl.

The honey filled up the space, covering the words like a tiny

ocean or a miniature great lake washing up on shore

and covering words someone has written in the sand.

“You are loved.”

That’s what the spoon says, and my imaginary shore.

I don’t even remember who gave us the spoon, though

I have tried to narrow it down so I can send a note

of thanks. I know that it came with a meal, which came

in the middle of my ongoing cancer battle. That must

have been a hard part of the fight, though I don’t recall

because they all feel hard. But any time people start sending

food, I know I must be in an extra exhausted season.

Someone sent us a meal from a company that makes

meals for people who can’t easily make them

for themselves, and whoever ordered it also ordered

the spoon. And whoever they are, I am deeply thankful

because every time I pull the spoon from the drawer

I am confronted with an inconvertible truth, that nothing,

not even months of debilitating illness that makes me

so road-weary I could sit down and weep, can change.

“You are loved.”

I have heard of loving cups, those two-handled cups

of old that got passed around banqueting halls for

people to share the drink inside, a sort of echo

of what happens weekly at the communion rail.

But I have never owned a loving spoon,

a shining silver spoon that helps preach the gospel

daily to my heart, as does the honey I drip down

into the spoon’s curved bowl, reminding me in every

golden drop how sweet are the words of the Lord,

sweeter than the drippings of the honeycomb.

So in case you need to hear them too, I lift my spoon

that drips with honey in your direction, before I

direct the spoon towards my cup of hot tea (which,

like an enchanted ocean, sends waves over the words

but reveals them again, still intact) and then

direct the words of this poem in the hopes

that whoever reads it will throw open the windows

of their heart and hear the sweet, sweet words:

“You are loved.”

(EMP, 5/7/17)