After and Still Needing to Eat

She burns the dinner, tells herself it’s fine.
You can’t unburn lasagne. Starts again,
all bechamel and light-touch breathing.
Stirs more carefully this time. Turns off the news.
An open window would refresh the air,
appease the fire alarm. She keeps it shut
and layers meat and sauce and meat and sauce.
Her mouth shaping a howl, an oven prayer.

Peek through

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