her house was burning all day long
and when she came to it after school,
one wall was left amidst the snow and ash.

her life had been in there;
her belongings and the finites that made her.
and now they were singed in smoke and dust
and they were nothing -
and she felt like nothing.

the fire burned obliviously,
orange and black and victorious in destruction.
it ate her being in one fellow, steady burn,
until her memories were held in a winter urn.

and she left that morning, from home.
and when she returned, her home was on fire.