I kept thinking of those words "head in the oven." So blunt, so evocative. I kept seeing my own head lying in my filthy oven, pink kitchen walls cheerily in the background. In my vision, I must have been there for quite some time because I looked confused as to why nothing was happening. Finally, I raised my head and shaking it while rolling my eyes with a huff. The black chunks of burnt food fell from my dirty cheeks that were marked in lines from the oven rack.
Kneeling awkwardly, still over the oven door, it dawns on me...I have an electric oven.
As I sat down to write my post mushroom class blog post, I kept thinking of that ironic scene in my imagination and feeling strangely connected to Sylvia Plath. I studied poetry in college, but I didn't remember any of her writing. So, I got sidetracked searching for her works on line.
Serendipitously, I came across this poem.