I go to work,
think of all the people
trapped in that tower.
I watch the four year olds,
how little they know of this.
Children in West End schools
will have focused awareness,
Kensington assemblies, prayers.
I think of the man at the window,
the memory of twin towers,
the split screen bulletin
staples that connection.
I discover at lunch time
how much the redevelopment cost.
Six have died.
I think of the Fire-fighters
running to rescue –
engulfed in black smoke floors.
The baby thrown ten storeys to safety
into the arms of a stranger.
The blazing heat of this summer’s day.
Streets empty of cars as parents
walk their children from school,
thanking their blessings
beneath the thrum of a police helicopter.
clutching what they could grab.
Screaming flames and sudden emptiness.
They were told to stay put,
every flat a fire resisting box.
Amongst the hum of emergency services,
silent prayers catch the breeze as news
of loved ones comes, or doesn’t.
I arrive home.
Children are still missing.
A local woman
opens her home to victims,
crews are expected to remain
for another 24 hours.
There’s nothing but love here.