Self-Plus-Seven, Saved
Become a
Premium Member
and post notes and photos about your poem like Gregory Richard Barden.
The din awakens me
Hall smoke alarm screaming like a banshee
Smoke everywhere, though I see no flames
I reach up through the thick black fumes and yank the battery
Silencing the banshee, but I hear sirens approaching
Thank god - someone has seen and called - one less thing
I'm the only one home and the cats are at the groomers - lucky, that
My first thought - what's irreplaceable? (There's not much time) ...
Artwork on the walls, mostly Mom's and Sis'
Fast as I can I run from room-to-room
Grabbing the frames off the walls by their hanging wires
Only two trips, heavy, but I drag them, knowing they can be re-framed later
Next ... my recorded material in the studio
Other end of the house, so I stop at my office
Grabbing my document folder from the safe, (open, thankfully)
If there's time I'll come back ... quick to the studio
I snatch my recordings, (now all on stick or card), from under the console
Already in a safe box - fireproof, supposedly, but I won't take the chance
Back outside to drop loads two and three
Now what?? Mementos ... family keepsakes I can't replace
I grab the paper bin by the door and scan each room again
Fitting what I can inside it - small antiques, precious gifts and the like
Back to the lawn with load four, then into the smoky hall
Now, photographs ... I'm lucky here, too, for they're already centralized
Albums in a rolling rack inside the hall closet
I have trouble with the folding louvers, so I just kick them in
Grabbing the handle, I haul the photos down the steps and out, load five
Back in, and the smoke is so thick I can barely see
I'm crouched low now and coughing, a bit dizzy
The home movies ... old and on Super 8 and 8mm
I take a shopping bag from the wall and head to the living room
Straight to the end table draw, tearing the movie rolls out and bagging them
I see the flames now, licking through the doorway from the garage
I'm close, and the heat is nigh unbearable ... go!!
Back outside and the fire trucks are at the end of the street
Only one last trip remaining, and I'm torn
So many things to treasure, and time is short ... back in
I scream back to the studio and take my favorite guitar off the wall
It's a rare 1968 Gibson L5 CES, mint condition, with few alike
I'm very woozy now and wondering if I'll make it out
The smoke is so thick, and every gasp burns my lungs
The heat is oppressive in the hallway
I dash back into the office and grab the gold sack out of the safe
But about halfway toward the door I drop it
Feeling quite faint, I leave it behind
Struggling to the front door with the L5 in hand
The fire department meets me at the door
"The garage!" I yell, and fall into the arms of a responder
Weak, dizzy, but still hanging on to my favorite guitar
I see a fireman enter with an axe, and the irony makes me smile
(Despite the grief of seeing my home being consumed by flames)
That's it, I'm done ... but thankful for my life
And the seven things I was able to rescue
More than most, I muse ...
Letting exhaustion take me.
Written and submitted on February 23, 2019
For the "Seven Things You Would Save If Your House Was On Fire" Poetry Contest
Caren Krutsinger, Judge & Sponsor.
Seven Things: artwork, document folder, recording safe box, memento bin, photo rack, home movie sack, L5 guitar.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment