Leftovers

Fortune was the recipe —
or fate —
it depended
what was
undercover in the fridge
leftover
from the week past.
Tupperware containers
half-filled
last with remnants of meals:
a roast of Dad’s beef
sad butter crusted beans
some old tomato dyed
cold spaghetti
some gravy for sauce.
Tossed together
my Mother of invention
added in
a missing thing
a something new
something canned
a something grew
never to be repeated
never could be redone
reheated it couldn’t be undone
and I wouldn’t leave until I was done.
    Waste not
    want not
forget me not
a recipe
taught.

Submitted as part of “National Poetry Writing Month – 2017” (#NaPoWriMo2017).  Today’s prompt: write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe! It can be a recipe for something real, like your grandmother’s lemon chiffon cake, or for something imaginary, like a love potion or a spell.

All text and photography © Dale Schierbeck

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