Fire
The frequent sorrows in our neighborhood—
the youngest Grayce girl and the Bennett boy,
the Lambert children dying one by one
of CF (something not yet understood)—
eclipsed sporadic stretches of pure joy
and betterment, hardscrabble and hard-won.
The night the Dorsey family died, my trust
in God’s all-wise, all-merciful, all-just
core attributes was tested. No one knew
what caused the blaze; some said it had to be
faulty wiring, a blocked-up chimney flue,
or lights on their aluminum Christmas tree.
A vacant lot now stands as witness to
the distance of some loving deity.
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