IMPORTANT NOTE: this work is a fictional piece I created around a true, historical event. For information on the historical event that inspired this poem, read about the Triangle Waistcoat Factory Fire or simply the Triangle Fire.
An ordinary workday, coming to an end.
Sophie telling me the new hat her mother did her lend.
We go through our routine, giving our purses
For inspection, giving the foremen curses.
Perhaps we will go to the Nickelodeon on our off-day,
If we can afford it with our pay.
Suddenly, a voice shouts from the back, "Fire!"
A man rushed forward with a pail, a worthless sire.
It spread so quickly, faster than a racehorse,
And the heat was so strong, had such force.
Sophie and I ushed and shoved, trying
To find an exit, wishing, hoping, praying, prying.
The smoke continued to build higher and higher,
And the screams got louder, louder, and louder.
The doors were all locked but one,
And flames engulfed it, giving realization.
We were trapped, and there was no way out.
On the eighth or ninth floor, there was no doubt
That few would survive to tell our tale,
How our losses were undeserving of bail.
They cheated us out of our wages
And called us names not written on pages.
Sophie and I ran to the window,
Gasping for any fresh air flow.
There was no way out; we had no choice.
We heard so many screams of futile voice.
We grasped each other in one last embrace,
Praying we could see our families' face.
We did what we felt, grasping,
Jumped, falling, falling, falling.
YOU ARE READING
Creative Writing
PoetryThis semester, I'm in a Creative Writing course, and I figured I'd publish some of the things I've written in it thus far. Some of them have very specific formats that are going to be tricky to write on a laptop, but I'm going to do my best.
