|
One wakes up to find two skyscraping chimneys
shooting dark clouds up a clear blue Manhattan sky.
A horror movie? One wonders. Why so early in the morning?
As sips of coffee shake off the remains of the night's sleep,
the chimneys strangely resemble the twin towers.
Squinted eyeballs open into a wide awe
as giant mushroom ash clouds (from
an invisible rocket?) engulf the city of NY.
The TV replays again and again
to convince one of the easy descent of a tower
a floor at a time, like an elevator.
One still doesn't know that the things one saw
thrown out the windows were people jumping
off the high floors for their last breath of air.
Noise and chaos, fire and smoke,
charred skin and detached limbs,
broken glass and flying debris,
fear and desperation mingle in the air.
One asks one's own sense, what's fragile, what's secure?
Twin follows twin and others give in.
Airplane passengers gone with the flame,
smoked streets, trapped workers,
struggling firefighters, dazed survivors,
uniformed helpers, crowded hospitals,
generous blood donors, unfinished conversations,
grieving souls, anxious loved ones,
grounded transports, stuck passengers,
reports of a stunned, stalled America in prayer
blend with the minutes and hours into the dusk.
Does the setting sun miss two tall mirrors
as its flaming reflections tower over the calm
bay waters as if nothing much has happened?
A ghost of a city sighs deep smoky breaths
not knowing how many thousands, alive or dead
spend the night under the mountain of rubbles.
If tonight isn't known, what does one know
of the days, months, and years to come?
Smoke swirls into the holes in the sky
confirming what one knows
how an hour of war kills years of peace
but concealing what one doesn't know
how the years of insane hate create that horrible hour.
|
