The Color It Wasn't

The soup was red before I covered it.

I stretched the plastic tight across the rim

and watched the color turn to something off—

a gray-pink, wrong, the whole surface dim.

One bubble pressed up from the center,

held flat against the plastic, and just stayed.

I stood beside the counter looking in

at what the color used to be, half-grayed.

Eleven days. I didn't count—I checked.

The difference matters and I don't know why.

The bowl's in the refrigerator now.

The bubble's still up there against the sky

of the plastic.

I put it away.