Fragrant kitchen memories whistle from cluttered upstairs.

A woman cooks for the day before yesterday.

Her meals become stale, wrapped in cellophane

And sitting in a lonely, forgotten refrigerator corner.

Sighing, she whisks them away with a turn of the faucet

Feeling no remorse over her loss, only deep fatigue.

Now, she sighs again, it's time to prepare tomorrow's meal.

But yesterday's must come first.

She hopes to be finished by the day after the first of next month.