the fire

I remember
my mother standing in the street,
smoke in the air,
firetrucks
around the corner,
crying
about the baby
that died in the fire.
she had seven
children at the time,
one in her arms,
the rest scattered,
two at her feet.
I remember watching her
bend
with heartache
not knowing who these people
were, and yet
broken as if the child
was one
of her own.
it almost made me understand
why she had
so many.