Mothers of Invention

by Sam Rasnake

So Frank asks, “DID you remember to unplug the microwave?” That question burns, windswept and angry, as if I’m his forest, as if he’s burning me down with a hard blame in his words. I just know it. My not unplugging the thing has tipped the balance somehow for one of his god-awful lists: war, oil spills, hunger, ignorance, dying lemurs, massive holes in the ozone, carbon footprints, asteroids, exploding stars, tomorrow’s spilled milk. And now I’m thinking of the milk, pooling over linoleum, wondering if my thought is connected, wondering if a poof in my head makes a star explode in deep space. More importantly, I’m thinking how dry the grape nuts will be in the morning.


Sam Rasnake is alive. His work has appeared recently in FRiGG, OCHO, Shampoo, Poets / Artists, BLIP, and BluePrintReview, as well as the anthologies Best of the Web 2009 (Dzanc Books) and BOXCAR Poetry Review, Anthology 2.