Disappearing Spoon

Amy Neill Bebergal

I lifted a spoon from the flannel-lined chest of motherís
heirloom flatware for 12, studied each silver utensilsí
ornate variation, monogram, and intention. I barely

considered the knife--its shapelessness like a manís
torso, and the beveled edge made it hard to hold. I passed
over the tines of the fork with a finger--ordered and perched

to its task. But it was the spoon like a thumbprint I would
choose to steal. I did not know it as thieving, but the quick
tuck into my pocket and downcast withdraw would make it

clear to an observer. It was later, after a party when they were
being polished, stacked and amounted to 11, that I heard my parents
question the absence (did they intend that I hear?) that I remembered

my spoon, long past wandered from the set deep into my room.
So it was that I went (unnoticed?) to return it, in exchange for the knowledge
that someone in this house had an accounting of something.



Amy Neill Bebergal'S, poems have appeared in Ghost Town, Killing the Buddha, Blast Furnace, Riverlit, A Narrow Fellow, Friends Journal, among others. She was a finalist for the Bermuda Triangle Prize for The Poetís Billow, Spring 2014. She recently completed her MSW, and counsels children and families in school-based settings. She lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with her husband and son.

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