Two Spoon Winter

I had not yet been born

So the story seems as subtle

As the snow was deep

The maple ladle skimmed the fat

For the dogs in good times

It was deep and wide

And as a baby toy

The broken spoon was sweet to suckle

It had been a common spoon to my mother

Til the year the sky fell

Leaving parties stranded, no buffalo

My mother knew immediately that spring was

Very very far away

And so a meal

Measured two spoons to a bowl

It was a cold and desperate night

When the spoon was snapped in a fit of hunger and frustration

By the hunter whose effort was futile

Gaunt stomach

Knawing Anger

Rations reduced to a single spoon

And the common object

This baby toy

Broken

Wooden ladle handle

Became the teacher

It took a full larder

And many springs

To build hope into this child

Born with a wooden spoon in his mouth

By Phil Specht