Memories in Silver

Silver coffee spoons

Hang from a wooden rack

On Mom’s kitchen wall.

She chose one for its colorful crest,

Another for its handle.

Not all of them are beautiful,

But each holds a memory.

When the metal starts to tarnish,

She fetches the tub of polish.

It’s not too much work, Mom claims,

As her parchment skin turns black.

After buffing until the silver sparkles

She lifts a spoon to the light and smiles,

Reliving a fragment of her past.

She bought it on a trip with Dad,

Who never saw the point of cutlery

That wasn’t used for eating,

But walked hand in hand with her

Through dusty markets and quaint bazaars,

Adoring her with all his heart.

Back on the wall, the collection gleams—

Dust-collecting bric-a-brac,

A lifetime forged in sterling.

Who will know its secrets when she’s gone?