It glitters, it surely does…glitter, I mean…
it’s dark, shiny, and thin, honed by years of use.
Spaghetti marinara; remember that one?
But that’s what you got for teasing.
I had turned to look at you; just waved the thing
and it was pleasing to see your face
when you saw tomato, splattered on your shirt;
its impression lingers… oh well…
I kept it locked in my box of memorabilia…
the shirt, that is… yes I did,
right along with the picture of you pointing fingers
at that famous birthday cake, you know the one.
It collapsed with the weight of a candle; remember?
I embarrassed my mother to death but not you,
you saw my face red as ember
and you smiled at me kind of crooked,
so I could tell something had crossed your mind
and then you whispered quickly: “I love you”.
And that you did… love me… that is, for me.
You saw me as being unique and funny
when others deemed me a screw-up –
so I couldn’t bake worth a darn; so what?
You saw beyond common expectations,
you saw me, and as our love yarn unraveled,
I in turn saw you… the one holding my hand,
the one who took me on long walks at night,
window shopping… ‘cause money was tight
but gosh, I loved the little gifts under my pillow,
nickel and dime stuff; treasures to keep
always a lift at times when I needed one
and well, now I’m getting sentimental
and look at me: I’m crying…
because the darn spoon just broke.
I look at the pieces lumped as one in my hand
and I could swear it glitters… how could it?
It does though… it glitters… it’s not silver,
it’s just an old worn out wooden spoon
but it sure shines with memories,
priceless moments nickel and dimes could buy.

Carmen Ruggero ©2005