The Fire

The fire began
In the morning
And raged till noon
When the firemen came
And put it out.

They looked through the house
And found our things,
Our old things, burnt -
A photograph; a letter;
A CD scorched and warped.

When I looked through the mess
For things that could be salvaged
It was that that caught my eye
A picture of you
As you were, all those years ago.

It seems strange now
To think that I hadn't seem you
For years before the fire
And that you were preserved
(At least your memory)

As clearly as anything I'd known.
The edge had curled up a little -
I guess it had twisted itself
Off the wall. But apart from that
You were just the same.

25/5/99