Some days I think I need nothing more in life than a spoon. With a spoon I can eat oatmeal, or take the medicine doctors prescribe. I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill or pound the table to get attention. I can point accusingly at God or stab the empty air repeatedly. Looking into the spoon's mirror, I can study my small face in its shiny bowl, or cover one eye to make half the world disappear. With a spoon I can dig a tunnel to freedom, spoonful by spoonful of dirt, or waste life catching moonlight and flinging it into the blackest night.