by Carolyn Clark

Four points of the fork,
low glint of silver
shines near a spot
of rust. Four points
there,
and there,
between the long, shut
eyes of knives-
fans of knives, nearly
dipping back into the sink.

But the violent fork,
the cat’s nervous plucking
of the couch’s strings,
four sharp fingers
slung upwards.

There are never enough spoons,
cupping, tucked away
somewhere, missed.

CAROLYN CLARK is a graduate of the English program at Elon University, is currently trying to live in New York, often wears dresses, eats almonds and pears, reads.