I am attaching a trigger warning here. This poem is about witnessing a death under horrible circumstances. All too often such deaths are afterward referred to as part of a generalised experience that denies the raw truth of severe witness trauma. A truth that is embedded not just in loss, but also in living with the graphic detail.
I remember that awful December, when bushfire turned our world to cinder.
Ah yes, I remember,
I saw her surrounded by brilliant embers,
alight on the burning grass.
With shaded eyes I approached her,
willing the fire to pass.
But her eyes repelled me as she was torched,
boiling as she screamed.
I saw them dripping,
down scorched cheeks they streamed
in streaks
that never made it to the ground.
Only then did she fall.
Only smoke for a pall.
Never again to be around.
God bless my daughter.
I’ll never forget her.
To her spirit I remain
eternally bound.
poetography.ink 
Hi Sean, this would be a most awful memory to live with. I’m sorry.
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Hi Robbie, I should have made it clear this is not a personal experience of mine. Although it has happened here in Victoria. I was trying to get to what it might be like for those who have experienced such horror. We are experiencing more frequent and uncontrollable bushfires and increasingly families are being trapped by them, but we don’t talk about that aspect. We just talk about fire behaviour and statistics. The reality is so much more tragic on an individual level. Our generalisations can lead to further isolation for victims and we should acknowledge and act on this.
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It is a powerful poem and feels very vivid and real. I agree that the impact on individuals of bush fires and other natural disasters should not be diminished to mere statistics.
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This is so sad. It is raw, unfiltered. The trauma lingers when we witness something like this.
I am sorry for your loss, Sean.
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Hi Nigel, sorry if I have misled you or anyone else. Curiously, it didn’t occur to me it would happen. Over decades I have witnessed many deaths in my professional life. The worst of them can revolve around family loss associated with unexpected or witnessed acute trauma. We have increasingly frequent and terrible bushfires here in Victoria. Families get trapped, but as a community we don’t acknowledge their individual experiences. We generalise about the fire instead. How many hectares burnt how quickly, how many houses lost, people died, heroic stories can be told. However, I was trying to create something as a form of acknowledgement of the individual pain of witnessed loss even though I will never really fully understand unless I experience it myself. I want victims to know I am trying to understand and to respond accordingly with effort on the ground.
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It all right, brother. I had read about a namesake in the Aussie press, who had lost loved ones in the fires, and I incorrectly assumed you were related. So that’s on me.
The poem was indeed visceral and touching.
I have seen brush fires spread so quickly that many dont have time to react and get ro safety. They are terrifying ordeal even when the outcomes are not tragic.
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