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Sunday Dinners
I woke up in the oven,
my mother standing outside
laughing at me.
I pressed my palms
against the oven door;
they sizzled.
Heat jolted through my arms.
My skin was peeling,
while my hair frizzed
and fried.
My feet were black.
All feeling was lost.
I gave the door a tremendous shove,
and spilled onto the kitchen floor.
The cold tile felt pleasant against
the limbs I could still feel.
I looked up and saw my brother
Fall frozen from the freezer.
His skin was white as the ice
that flourished over his hair.
His nose was a crimson red.
My mother stood over us cackling.
A wine bottle in one hand,
a syringe in the other.
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Favorite Quote:
"They all put their pants on one leg at a time."