screams erupt from the kitchen.
dashing around the corner
just a glimpse of red-orange flames
so tall I need to look up
rumblings of fury and fists.
bottled up ache of tears.
his hair spiked, stands up on end
like little dark flames, choking.
calmly, slowly: just in case,
if you need it, over here
is the fire extinguisher.
when you’re that angry, don’t cook?
windows open, the cold breeze
sucks smoke from the room. the pan
slick with oil made gray with ash.
I don’t ask, just pour it out.