I watched you burn to death in that fire,
your face so serene as your skin fell away.
In my anguished mind,
I thought I saw you smile at me.
My hands are scarred from my attempted rescue.
I would have happily died with you,
had the firemen not grabbed me.
Fall back, sir. She can’t be saved.
How I wept for you as the house fell,
consumed by that beastly flame.
I pushed our consoling neighbours away in my grief.
A grease fire, I overheard the fire chief say.
But you were always so careful in the kitchen.
By dawn, everyone had left.
They wanted to take me to the hospital,
but I wouldn’t leave you.
The paramedics bandaged my hands at the scene
and I was finally left alone,
gazing at the smoldering remains of our fifteen-year home.
How could I have lost you, my love?
How?
I was startled by the movement in the ashes.
First, your hand appeared, then your face.
I thought myself mad
when I saw you pull yourself to your feet,
naked,
unblemished,
looking much younger than before.
You approached me,
softly speaking your soothing words,
easing my shattered mind
and fragmented heart.
You whispered:
Everything will be okay, Baby.
This wasn’t the first time.