The lady is burning
and we are the world watching through
scaffolds of screens, safe behind
spires of murmured Ave Marias.
500 firefighters douse the lady
and we are in the choir enclosure
as flames lap from above at the crown
of thorns, watching heaven suffer.
The Seine overflows with sadness
and we are there, as smoke and ruin
and history billows the air, as disbelief
vaults everywhere in the city.
On TV, priceless artworks are incanted
and we are taken by the need to name,
as if memory is the only stone
that still remains.
The spire falls over and over
and we are reminded of other towers
collapsing, also amidst fire and fear
We are made of these things.
About the poem: The world recoiled in shock and horror as news broke of a fire engulfing the iconic Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris on 15th April.
Like what you read? See more poems by Marc Nair on his page.