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