Poem 215

Teachers at my primary seemed eager to point out this girl to us when she transferred from a school that had burned down, killing some pupils …

Fire Girl

There was a girl in my class at school
who was once in a fire and every morning
her morning talk was
                                      how I was in the fire
she would never bring leaves or chrysalises
         lengths of striped toothpaste
         on greaseproof paper
only melted tears of corrugated iron shattered
half-bricks with shadows pressed to them
soft feathery books that the pages
          floated off

each day the same story the clapping hands of the fire
its clever small cares with some things clumsinesses
with windows and ornaments the way the fire cries
when it can't find anything to sit on
                just like a big baby she whispered

at playtime we said why weren't
you burnt then
                           she said
                                           I was I was on fire
and I ran to put out the flames but they stayed
and I was whirling round crackling
            with pennants
            like all of the A&P Show
listening to the fire talk like a radio
late at night ...

who put you out
                              we asked
but the bell was ringing

      it sounds just like a fire bell she said
and ran in