At the top of the stairs
her breath short
whose fingers collected kindling
as she took a chair?
How much care was taken
over the miniature pyre in the grate?
As she reached for a blanket
was the match struck?
When she took to her bed
were the papers gathered in piles?
What was the sequence of their destruction?
Were they torn first or shredded?
How much satisfaction was held in the gaze
of the one who watched,
careful not to overload
and smother the flames
as upstairs a dew filmed her skin
and she asked for water
but no one came?
Were the notebooks added
in a structure which would allow
the air to circulate?
Were ashes cleared to maintain the blaze?
As the lonely death rattle
extinguished
could she hear
her shed lock go
the weight of the machine flung
spool cover crack
ink ribbon snap
hammer strike the keys
walls falling
chime at the end of the line?