Scarcity

The cutlery drawer is a graveyard

of unmatched forks and plastic lids

that never fit the tubs. I was looking

for the small one, the one for sugar,

and found the silver spoon I thought

the garbage took years ago.

The belly of it is a bruised purple,

bubbled and scorched from the blue

of a lighter. It’s heavy in my palm,

a cold weight that makes my throat

go dry and tight. I used to be

so hungry for the wrong things.

I don't throw it away this time.

I just push it back under the tray,

into the dark with the crumbs

and the spare keys to locks

I no longer own.