Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Kitchen

Once upon a time,
as if stuffed into a black body bag,
Ophelia was a young bride trapped
in a hamlet, behind a contentious kitchen door,
scared of the powdery moment
when the dough would fail
to rise to occasion, akin to her,
while pots and pans--statues with warm eyes-
viewed the ruins inside a Bundt pan.

Now, she is the one with keen eyes
seeing through her blood,
ignoring the hostile howl of the oven,
insufferable foil work of forks and knives,
infinitesimal belligerence of appliances,
and nothing will ever force her
into tight places again.

-----------------
Prompt: A poem with 3 inanimate objects in it