The Fires

I cried at work today.

I couldn't help reading coverage on the fires, after panicking on Sunday because the fires were spreading to close to where the family in the country lives. Not dangerously close, mind you, about half an hour's drive, but if the wall of flames is moving at 100km per hour, you don't exactly need to be very close.

Everyone I know in that area is fine, which is such a relief. But so many, so many have lost their houses, their lives, have been burned alive on cricket pitches and in family cars, have agonized and left people behind, have watched trees explode and choked in the smoke.

It staggers me. It breaks my heart.

I wrote at work today. It helped, just a little.

--

Our eyes have never caught, but today,
I am your mother
With all the gravity and sorrow of
She who first bled for you.

I would have gladly leapt to the flames
To spare your torment
And wrapped you and spared you the worst
For you should never, never, never have any of it.

If I could, I say,
And with all of there is of me,
Every part
I mean it.