The onion turned to charcoal in the pan

The onion turned to charcoal in the pan

while I was staring at the wall.

The smoke alarm is a high, thin scream

reminding me that I’m the only one here.

I scraped the black bits into the bin

with a spatula that’s starting to melt.

There is a film of grease on the tiles,

a yellowed residue of every meal I've missed.

Nobody is coming to turn the heat down.

The stove is a hot, iron mouth,

and I am learning how to feed it

without burning my own hands off.