Love Inside A Spoon

A poem

From the first week of my existence I was declared incompatible with the ways of living of the ephemeral figures that took to my care. Several years later, the pain kept growing, and the shadows grew inside my eyes.

The swallows took flight and never returned. Now I see how lucky I have been.

One of them took pity and gifted me a roadmap through which I found a waterfall and seven siblings. Exorcising the transient love I was forced to accept, I built my house with my own hands and I put a hearth right in the middle.

The firmament reflects on the rusty curvature of the only object I kept close to my heart since birth. A symbol of care. The night is holding me tight, and I share a few drops of love with my new family.

I try to love myself more, thus the first hit is always mine.

This poem was inspired by John Haslam’s prompt about loving ourselves first before loving another, through his poem “You’re under my skin”.

Context

The poem’s imagery is directly inspired by one of the places in the center of Athens, Greece, where drug users used to gather. This place was in between the Academy of Athens and the National Library.

I used to pass by there quite frequently. It felt surreal to see all those people wasting away, under the statues of ancient Greek gods and philosophers.

I chose to focus on the imagery of the spoon because with a spoon a parent can feed their baby, and the feeding becomes a bonding time. The spoon, therefore, becomes a medium of love. The shape of the spoon also reminds me of a breast. One more way of providing nourishment and love to a baby.

When it comes to intravenous drug use, the spoon also becomes a crucial step for the euphoric and loving sense that the opioids provide to find its way into the bloodstream.

Passing by them, I would often think that these people only had the opioids and the vast darkness of the night to hold them tight, comfort them, and put them to sleep. Those elements, taking on a “parenting” role.

The first stanza of the poem is a reference to the Moirai (the Fates), who, according to the tradition, would visit a baby during the first week of its life and determine its fate.

The hearth is a reference to the ancient Greek goddess Hestia, who was in charge of anything that had to do with the home and the family. The fire from the lighters the drug users used to melt the heroin in their “homes” (i.e. under the trees, or covered by large paper boxes), always brought to my mind a hearth, and the gathering of a family around a fire.

As some of you may know, my brother was an IV drug user. I have shared tiny bits of information about it and his passing. In short, I use the Moirai in this poem to represent intergenerational trauma and the way it can get under our skin from a young age, before we have the chance to learn how to love ourselves.

Lastly, the waterfall is just a reference to a water pipe that would often get broken. The drug users and other homeless people would use the water to drink and to clean themselves.

Here’s another poem I had written, inspired by a drug user in a station very close to the place I reference in this poem.

Note: I rarely break down the symbolism of my poems like that, as I’d like to leave them open to all possible interpretations. This time, however, I felt it was necessary since I was talking about something very specific.

Thank you for reading, and as always, all your interpretations are welcome!

I’d also like to share Logophobic’s powerful take on the prompt: