My Mother has an OTG Oven

My mother has an OTG oven. 

She never bought a microwave because she wanted to have space, for the space to be the oven’s. 

On most days, this oven sits there, untouched, unused. 

She stores some gloves and papers and ribbons inside. 

When I see it there, untouched, mostly unused, 

I can’t help but think about the day it stops working. 

Will she throw it away? 

I’m scared to think about that. 

I couldn’t tell you what I’m more scared of. 

Will she refuse to discard it after it’s broken, 

Reminding me that she’s a hoarder? 

If she convinces herself to get rid of it, 

Will she throw it in the street?

Will she look at it everyday from the window?

This object that was hers, 

Abandoned.

It has nowhere to go. 

No one will pick it off the street. 

How painful it must be for her.

Her beloved OTG oven that she had for so many years,

Unloved, 

Untouched, 

Unwanted. 

Dead,

But nowhere to go.