redemption in a death rattle melodious, maybe

on this little stand next to my stove

all my cutlery hangs from four hooks

it has three tablespoons and three forks

crude instruments- practical, coarse

three teaspoons and three knives

all self-effacing in the day’s light

yet if the window’s open on breezy nights

they double as my wind chimes

and chiming lead me to believe  

that there may still be hope for me

if only i can find on nights like these

the right place to be, suspended in the breeze