Self-Esteem for Giants [Poem]

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Self-Esteem for Giants

Sometimes I think I am just the way
dishes get transported up and down stairs–
like, having no legs, they invented me
to go on these excursions. It makes me
feel useful. Sometimes I think about how
I make cutlery both dirty and clean,
shuffling it from dishwasher to drawer
to dining table, and then back again.
Sometimes, I lick a spoon for effect.
Perhaps each day for them is a season,
the soapy rains, wintering in drawers.
Sometimes, when I break a dish, I want
to cry, but it’s more from shock than loss,
more about me and my failure as a cup holder
than about the cup and its untimely demise.
Each day for them is an adventure, soaring
in the questionably steady hands of a giant,
clattering into the sink with undue panache.
I’d like to feel like a giant. I was told
(probably by myself) that one day I would.
Yet here I am, savouring the chime of forks
put back in their places. I wonder what they
say about me, passing reviews of my work
through the drawers and shelves they sleep in.
Goodnight, dishes and cutlery. Dream well.