While the Soup Gets Cold
by Marisa Thoman
University of Cincinnati
Marisa Thoman is a Graphic Design major and English minor at University of Cincinnati. Her designs have been recognized with awards from Graphic Design USA, Graphis International Awards, and Creative Communication Awards. Her previous story "That Dreadful Noise That Kept Us Up at Night," as well as two illustrations, were published in Quirk 2021. You can find more of my work at marisathoman.com or on Instagram @thomandesign.
While the Soup Gets Cold
It starts like this: I finally crawl out of bed at 2pm. I realize I should get something to eat. From the walk between my room and the kitchen, I wish I had put socks on because the floor is cold and unfamiliar even though I’ve been here for about two months now. I grab the first can of soup off the shelf without reading the label because I know I won’t have a taste for it anyway. I pour it into the pot on my stove and wait for it to bubble. I think about how I should buy a microwave because the inconvenience of having to wash both the pot and the bowl is really too much for me right now. Everything feels like too much right now. Maybe I’ll settle on just eating it out of the pot. I turn the stove off and leave my soup there. I think I won’t put it away just yet because if I lie down a little bit longer my appetite might come back. But it’s been gone for a month now and I’ve already lost fifteen pounds. When I get back in bed my sheets are still warm from the weight of my body only removed a few minutes earlier. I look up at the ceiling and count the lines of the tiles. I listen to the sound of cars driving past my street and birds singing in the trees. I try to remember the shape of the freckle on your neck. I think about how everything keeps on moving, no matter how hard you try to freeze time. If I could just slow everything down I might finally be able to catch up. Suddenly the sun has gone down and I’m still staring at my ceiling. My cat sits on my chest and yells at me to get up. I think if he could talk he would tell me that if I don’t feed him soon he’ll eat my soup off the stove. I fill his bowl before stepping into the shower. I stand there until the water runs cold and coats my body like a cocoon. If I stand here long enough maybe I’ll be something different, something better, when I step out. When I finally do, I am the same only now my wet hair sticks to my shirt in clumps. I make my way back to the kitchen and find my soup waiting for me, telling me to take my time. I put it in a container in the fridge next to the container of my soup from yesterday that I forgot about. I realize that my days have been playing on loop for some time now. I think I will try again tomorrow.
Interview with the Poet
1. What was your inspiration for this piece?
I wrote this piece in the months after a difficult period in my life. I wanted to remember what it felt like to be in that headspace, to write it down as a reminder that I was able to heal in case I’m ever in a place like that again. The last line—”I think I will try again tomorrow” —is supposed to convey hope and remind myself/the reader that eventually it will get better.
2. What is your creative process? (How do you go about writing or creating?)
I wrote this poem in one sitting because I wanted to get all my feelings out on the page. Because of that, I didn’t edit it much after the fact either to maintain the authenticity of my initial thoughts. I’ve been writing like this recently as a personal exercise to help process my thoughts and feelings.
3. What are some influences on your artistic process?
I don’t have a lot of experience with poetry, but a lot of women I look up to in my life have been encouraging me to give it chance. As I began reading it more, I felt inspired to write for myself. It has been a very helpful tool in my healing/overall mental health.
4. Is there anything more you’d like our readers/viewers to know about you or your work?
If this poem resonates with you, I want you to know it does get better, even if it feels like you won’t make it out on the other side. It’s worth sticking through it, I promise.