Still There

The spoon is still in it.

I left it there three days ago after I stirred.

The soup has a skin on top now,

waxy and thick,

and underneath, the broth has separated.

Everything I made has come apart.

I stood in front of the fridge for a minute.

Just looking at it.

The container was one I'd used for leftovers,

and the soup was supposed to be lunch.

Multiple days of lunch.

I'd made it on a Sunday when I had time,

when I thought ahead,

when I believed I would want to eat it.

But I didn't want it.

So it sat.

And now it's the kind of thing you have to throw away,

not because it's bad,

but because it's been forgotten long enough

that it feels like something else now.

Something that stayed.