The sound of the roof collapsing
drew everyone’s attention
in the near vicinity. The sun
had almost set and we all stood in front
of the 7-11, watching as the old building
began to falter. The flames were a bright
orange that night; an unstoppable force
for the many firefighters arriving
in their big red trucks. I wonder
how many children
who attended that school
were standing and watching the rafters
collapse to the floor, knowing
that their library
full of books was feeding
the ravenous flames.
“It was arson,” the inspectors said, days later,
as the skeleton of the old school
stood exposed
to the harsh sunlight, its blackened remains sinister,
even from a distance. But when I looked closer,
I could see a child walking through
the charred hallways,
the sound of her laughter
drifting lazily over to me
as I recalled the many years I spent there.