Somewhere During the Twenty Minutes

I set the timer. Twenty minutes.

Soup on the back burner, low.

Somewhere in between I ended up

on the floor—back against the cabinet,

knees up, thinking about a thing

that happened in another life,

another kitchen,

three years back.

The beep pulled me back like a hand

on the shoulder. Hard. Certain.

I sat there a second. Got up.

The soup was fine.

Steam rising from the pot,

the timer blinking 0:00.

I stirred it. Ate it.

The window dark by then.

I keep thinking about the distance—

not the three years, not even the kitchen.

Just those twenty minutes.

Where I actually was.