I saw a takeout plate
in the cabinet today
and it reminded me of you.
I knew as soon as we made things official
that we weren’t meant to be together
romantically.
We worked better as friends.
No choking air between us.
Conversations were lighter.
We were both ourselves.
Then romance got in the mix
and things became stifled.
Early.
If I’m being honest,
I knew before we became us
that it wasn’t going to work.
But you wouldn’t budge.
And I let you in
because I didn’t want to lose you.
The familiarity.
The ease.
The acceptance.
You got me
in ways that mattered.
And I liked it.
Oh,
I liked it so much.
I didn’t want to lose it,
so I gave in.
I let you convince me
that time would change my mind.
But it didn’t.
You brought me food in that bowl
and somehow
I never threw it away.
I haven’t used it in years.
But for some reason,
it’s still there
among the others,
taking up space.
Like you do.
Sometimes.
In my mind.
I wonder if you’re happy.
If you found someone
who loves you back.
If you’re more secure
in yourself.
If you’ve grown.
I ache to hear your voice.
But I don’t call.
And I probably never will.
Not because I don’t care,
but because I don’t want my actions
to be misinterpreted.
So I will remember you
from time to time.
Not enough to go looking.
Not enough to go back.
Just enough
to remember
what we were.
And maybe that’s what this Tupperware is.
A little piece of a life
I once let in,
but knew I couldn’t stay in.
Still sitting there.
Still taking up space.
Still reminding me of you.
Mariam Shittu
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A little note behind the poem:
I cooked last weekend and went into the cabinet looking for bowls to store the food in. That’s when I found an old Tupperware I had moved into my current apartment with. I haven’t used it in years, but somehow, I’ve never thrown it away. And just like that, I was reminded of someone I hadn’t thought about in a while. That little discovery is what birthed this piece.
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