I’ve lain for days in the grass where I was flung

As unmined silver, 

I spent eons in twilight sleep, 

rubbed lustrous by seasons, 

And learnt much from it. 

Thumbless hand, 

I’ve been jammed 

into tine-bending clay 

to gouge holes 

for planting jasmine 

when a spade wasn’t handy. 

Human mistreatment 

of their best inventions 

led this still-handsome fork 

(my classic pattern’s 

known as Acanthus 

or Aegean weave) 

to be employed 

prying up old linoleum. 

Forks are mentioned 

six times in the bible! 

Slave of the grip, bound 

to spear earthworms 

or currants, I have 

pedigree, nobility, 

but am sans volition. 

Today, the brat 

in the dotted Swiss pinafore, 

plagued by frequent nosebleeds, 

used me to stab the cat. I am 

scholar, diplomat! Striving’s 

elongated shape! Yet my fate 

is shame. As if pitched here 

by some tantrum-prone 

god, I’ve lain for days 

in the grass where 

I was flung. 

 

[Amy Gerstler {1956- } 'A Terribly Sentimental Fork', from Scattered at Sea]