The book was burning

from fire to fire

We thought her words were safe inside the book

The many pages with

black serifed text

a finer than most

hard cover front and back

The children ran down the halls of the burning house

grabbing things as they fled

a framed picture, a favorite shirt,

medicine bottles, old letters, a radio,

but the books, the Books

                        were on fire already—-crackling

                         the sound of paper screaming

And all of the books hovering close

                           on the shelves didn’t save them

           Eyes square on them                one last look

 the sight         of her book            in a flash           gone

                          the last thing to carry out

                                            in disbelief