boiled ovenbird There was smoke without fire. There was smoke in my lungs before I had a chance to hold my breath. Smoke tripped the alarms and they screamed me into action. Down the stairs, to the kitchen, the kettle on the stove with the spout open so it hadn’t whistled when it boiled, hadn’t alerted me to its boiling, and then it boiled dry and it burned, and the heat scorched all the oil, residue of hunger, and turned the burner into a censer, and I coughed on the thick scent of perfumed ash. Open the windows, turn on the fan, feel the way my heart is beating too fast in my chest. Have I boiled myself dry on the urgent heat of everything I’m told I must be? Is that why I’ve been smelling smoke for weeks? When I filled the kettle with water it hissed and steamed. So hungry that it vaporized the very thing that might have saved it. 261103 what's it to you? who go blather from