I opened the oven door when the timer went off. Twenty minutes of baking, twenty minutes of thinking. I looked at the cake and tested it with a toothpick. it came out clean.
“But the difference here is that the beast knew it was in a story. Well, ‘knew’ is too strong a word, but the narrative structure that we take for granted, one that so rarely reflects the intricacies and banalities of how life plays out, had wrapped itself around stories of wolves, particularly in this small village, and so by some intuition, the beast knew what it shouldn’t do.”
Her listeners seemed impolitely disinterested, so she stopped.
“That’s all for tonight I guess. Come back tomorrow if you really want me to play Scheherazade for you so badly.”
If she was hoping to startle them into some sort of action she failed. Her two watchers left for the night, and she was alone again.
Ovens these days are very useful things to have in your kitchens. You can use them for many different things like cooking something easy to make like frozen chicken nuggets for lunch or making you family a delicious home cooked meal for dinner.
TessaAnn
A conveyor belt. A line of my friends, old and new, and my family huddled immediately around me. The blast of heat didn’t wake us up; instead, it was the finality of it all. What do you think about when you’re about to die? That was the question on my mind.
ml
“I left the oven on, oh no, oh no,” I chastise myself as I halt in the process of getting in my car. I can’t leave. I can’t leave. I have to go back and check. Why do I always do this?
If all the world were an oven instead of a stage would we be any closer to fully cooked and developed at birth, or would we all just come out too charred to care about racial differences?
If all the world were an oven instead of a stage, couldn’t we be better versions of ourselves in a number of ways?
i have a oven. i cook with this oven. with oven cook be early
Nasima Akter
i go. i want to go home. i am going to get a job. you are going to market. i am going to friends
Nasima Akter
Would Plath approve of me
or pity me, if I stuck my head
in the oven and screamed?
Who am I kidding?
She was oriented to her
center, like a yo yo,
like a tornado; she wouldn’t
pay me an ounce of mind.
and I am an idiot.
I cannot spin storms
into the jewelry I wear
to parties, where it will be
admired, where they will
talk of how it made my
eyes sparkle.
I’ve never felt the electricity,
and that’s the problem: there isn’t
enough of it in my head.
My synapses are quiet teenagers
in the corner of a dance, who only
converse when threatened.
(They don’t take kindly to being
forced, either. and after the pills wear
off, they pound my skull in anger).
Sometimes my body is the oven,
and I hope it scorches me.
Sometimes I hope I will melt
into the cracks of myself,
until I slip through my ribcage
and organs, and pool onto the
sidewalk.
Then march, march,
march on; carry me to different
places. Sate the lust for soil that
rests primly in my marrow,
deep, deep, damn-right down.
I opened the oven door when the timer went off. Twenty minutes of baking, twenty minutes of thinking. I looked at the cake and tested it with a toothpick. it came out clean.
“But the difference here is that the beast knew it was in a story. Well, ‘knew’ is too strong a word, but the narrative structure that we take for granted, one that so rarely reflects the intricacies and banalities of how life plays out, had wrapped itself around stories of wolves, particularly in this small village, and so by some intuition, the beast knew what it shouldn’t do.”
Her listeners seemed impolitely disinterested, so she stopped.
“That’s all for tonight I guess. Come back tomorrow if you really want me to play Scheherazade for you so badly.”
If she was hoping to startle them into some sort of action she failed. Her two watchers left for the night, and she was alone again.
He pulled the cookies from the oven. The sweet, chocolate smell filled the room and made me forget my worries for a short while.
kk
I has been a while that I haven’t been baking anything. Probably the last thing I have been baking was a new style vegetarian lasagne in the over.
Ovens these days are very useful things to have in your kitchens. You can use them for many different things like cooking something easy to make like frozen chicken nuggets for lunch or making you family a delicious home cooked meal for dinner.
A conveyor belt. A line of my friends, old and new, and my family huddled immediately around me. The blast of heat didn’t wake us up; instead, it was the finality of it all. What do you think about when you’re about to die? That was the question on my mind.
“I left the oven on, oh no, oh no,” I chastise myself as I halt in the process of getting in my car. I can’t leave. I can’t leave. I have to go back and check. Why do I always do this?
If all the world were an oven instead of a stage would we be any closer to fully cooked and developed at birth, or would we all just come out too charred to care about racial differences?
If all the world were an oven instead of a stage, couldn’t we be better versions of ourselves in a number of ways?
i have a oven. i cook with this oven. with oven cook be early
i go. i want to go home. i am going to get a job. you are going to market. i am going to friends
Would Plath approve of me
or pity me, if I stuck my head
in the oven and screamed?
Who am I kidding?
She was oriented to her
center, like a yo yo,
like a tornado; she wouldn’t
pay me an ounce of mind.
and I am an idiot.
I cannot spin storms
into the jewelry I wear
to parties, where it will be
admired, where they will
talk of how it made my
eyes sparkle.
I’ve never felt the electricity,
and that’s the problem: there isn’t
enough of it in my head.
My synapses are quiet teenagers
in the corner of a dance, who only
converse when threatened.
(They don’t take kindly to being
forced, either. and after the pills wear
off, they pound my skull in anger).
Sometimes my body is the oven,
and I hope it scorches me.
Sometimes I hope I will melt
into the cracks of myself,
until I slip through my ribcage
and organs, and pool onto the
sidewalk.
Then march, march,
march on; carry me to different
places. Sate the lust for soil that
rests primly in my marrow,
deep, deep, damn-right down.
Warmth
From far it caresses my skin
the sweet smell of baking goods drifting into my nose
An oven is something you cook in. There are various different types of ovens. like a clay oven and an oven in your kitchen.