When I set my kitchen on fire
For the seventh time
I swore I’d be more careful
Those promises fell from my lips
Like bombs on a training field
They were well intentioned
But devoid of any actual impact
Other than to raise my confidence
In how well I could go through
The motions
The smoke clouding my judgement
Like my burned oil
On my stove top
In my panic
To stop the flames
From engulfing the remains of
My pride
I realized that
I was only kidding myself
My kitchen has been Egypt proofed
Attention to detail so fine
That i hadn’t noticed that
I had been dining on microwavable
Meals simply to deal with
The fact that I cannot be trusted
To be alone
I mean, at home on my own
And have been known
To settle for some cheap substitute
Synthetic faith in
the unknown
Yet well documented
Talent of creating
Bonfires indoors
I tend to set fire to things
That I cannot control
And find myself starved in the meantime
All the while burning holes in my carpet
That I will try to cover up
Hoping no one will notice the damage
Smoothing over the soot on the walls
With excuses stark enough
To make the paint shine again
With a little bit of
Elbow grease to enhance the sheen
I mean honestly
How could you see the holes
In my carport
Through all of the
Flattery
What fire are you talking about?
Do you really think that’s smoke that
You see?
I think your eyes might
Be a little hazy
From the seeing the sun
That I’m trying to imitate
When in actuality I was
Blind by flames
That reminded me
That there will be an 8th
Kitchen fire
And I will swear that it is my final
And my heart will mirror the same
But I couldn’t fool you
You stared past the pride in
My eyes to all of the
Skeletons concealed in
The crawl spaces
And the secrets
That I prayed went up
In flames
The same way that my dinner did
And the excuses
That I preferred the uses
Of my microwaved knock offs
to a prepared meal
Because it meant that
I may have to set my table
and sit in it
ashamed of the inhabitants
In my heart that would dine
With me too
Called by invitation
And staying because
I have not yet
Found liberation in your promises
I let my heart
Fragment into cabinets
to hide ingredients
I didn’t feel worthy to cook
Yet you found its evidence
floating in the sparks
That the fireworks let off
While I stare at the holes
In my carpet
And wonder how we got here.
When i set my kitchen on fire
The first time
I promised you that it was an accident
That the me
I mean meal that I prepared
To present to my guests
Simple slipped through my fingers
and got lost to time
And through the course of it
Ended up burned
When the truth is
I think I just got burned out
Of this cooking
Preferring the short cuts
Of little debbie and the
Connivence of chef boyardee
When what you really wanted
To spend time preparing
Was the me that you
saw past all of my holes
The flaws
My secret love of coleslaw
You wrote all of my recipes
And ordained all of the the steps
You foresaw my mistakes
and cleaned up my mess
and did not stress at my soot marks
You saw that I was hungry
And you made me full
Satiated and satisfied
My savior my lord
