Across the Rim

My fingers found the handle of a cold silver teaspoon lying near the edge of the sideboard. Deliberate lift. The metal felt thin and balanced in my dark grip. Before me sat an empty white porcelain teacup, wide and hollow. I rested the spoon's small oval bowl against one rim and lowered the stem until the tip caught the opposite edge. A faint, clear clink. The spoon tipped once, wobbled, then locked into a level bridge spanning the opening. I let go. It held. I drew back into the shade of the bread box, watching the silver line cut the empty circle in two.