The Spoon's Perspective, By Alicia Cole
Every bright soldier, every one.
You can't say the lame one
turned to salt after all.
The paper dancer?
Not made of the sternest stuff.
I would have advised him if he'd asked,
but who asks their mother once
they're grown and a soldier
besides? I was always inside him,
but easy to ignore.
Flimsy thing, that dancer.
I wished she'd stayed to mourn
instead of following. I would have
liked to know her better. But that's
why her spangle blackened, I say.
She chided herself. He?
A perfect heart, and me still with him.
He should have chosen a milk maid
instead, someone else well made of tin.
It would have been interesting
to talk to her mother,
us both stepping back,