Butter storms

Flame leapt like a trial by fire,
your hands fluttered like trapped sparrows,
oil hissed like gossip in the street,
and I held your fear in my iron chest.
This is how our love story began,
a new bride and a frying pan.
Two hearts buttered on surface,
slipping, sizzling, refusing to part.

Years later I felt storms in your grip
anger pressed into my handle.
the rush to crack eight eggs at once,
made me weary beneath the haste.
This is how our struggles ran
a weary mom and a frying pan.
Two souls charred by heat
clashing, cracking yet never apart.

Then came a day, you flung me
I clanged against the banana tiles
Kitchen echoed with quarrels
as eggs clung to me like grudges.
This is how our end was planned
a bitter life and a frying pan.