good soup

by Clare Martin

I stir the soup slowly, letting it simmer alongside our conversation.

‘I don’t love him. I never loved him.’

‘Why did you marry him?’

A teaspoon of curiosity goes in the pot.

‘To teach them a lesson.’

‘Who?’

A touch of clarity, to aid digestion.

‘My parents.’

I wait, stirring smoothly.

‘All I wanted was to paint. They wouldn’t let me go to art school.’

‘You had to stay at home. So you …?’

I reach for the seasoning marked regret.

‘Married a man they hated.’

A drop of dislike, just enough to give a spicy kick.

‘And how did that work out?’

She spreads her hands in a wide shrug; palms pale and helpless.

I serve the soup and together we eat the pain, the wasted years, the anger, and the loss

Photo of Clare Martin

BIO: Clare Martin writes about the mysteries of everyday life — the little cracks where something unexpected slips through, lives caught in the space between what is and what might be. Surreal, irreal and just plain weird, her stories have appeared in several anthologies and magazines and her own collections, In Transit and Undercurrents.