so she stuck her head in an oven.
     A lot easier to do in her day;
     manufacturer’s ignorant
     of liabilities,
     hadn’t installed
     ineffective “safety devices” yet.
An oven may be
less common,
but I tire of hearing
how all the poets either
spontaneously combust
or self inflict the long road
to the graveyard.
Suicide is cliché
regardless of methodology.
Death doesn’t haunt,
but glasses of milk on children’s nightstands…
towels shoved in the cracks of locked doors…
The preservation of lives even after hers
had become unpreservable ­
refusal to forsake motherly duty
even in clichéd death.