The plate sat half-full
long after the room had
gone quiet. She had
cooked for one but still
set the table for two,
as if the empty chair
might finally say
something worth hearing.
She moved the food to a
container, labelless, and
placed it in the
refrigerator. The kitchen
light flickered. She left
it on.
Some evenings, the only
victory is deciding to
try again tomorrow.