the fire

the fire
in the old house
shot through the windows.
outside
the family stood in
their
night clothes
watching
in the cold as the flames
licked
and licked
at the wood frame,
taking
in the roof.
someone said there was
a baby
inside.
a dog. a small child.
but there was no going back
in.
the firemen
arrived in their long red
trucks
unable to get close.
they stood with their hoses
as the water
arced into the red roar,
doing little.
we didn't know
the family.
but I remember how hard
my mother cried
for the children, for
the mother.
not knowing their names.
but knowing.