if at times people and their ways confuse her 
mind and use all her 
spoons, 
she thought for a time,
she could consider them as food

she discovered sweets, for the occasional high, 
yet the so sweet / too sour is unpredictable, her 
body tells her 
she has had too much

she collected tomatoes, reliable, adaptable, 
picked when they are ripe and ready,
she is careful not to overuse
she cannot manage otherwise,
overwhelmed by variety,
all  too quickly,
she runs out of spoons

she searched for years, high and low,
among the highs and lows, 
rows and rows,
of stacks, of shelves, of foods,
until she found her 
watermelon friend, slice of smile, her 
favourite, she enjoys her everyday, stains her 
fingers, the joy of juice falling carelessly on her 
t-shirt, expansive fruit held carefully between her 
hands, behind the mess, their huge shared grins, 

come the end, she sits in silence with her 
watermelon friend, gently scooping together, giving her,
her very last spoon