Midway through the day that forever altered the landscape of our lives, I saw a man interviewed on television. Covered in the ashes of those long to be remembered, he attempted to recount his reaction to the chaos unfolding just blocks from where he crouched behind a Chrysler, waiting. I sat stunned. I spent most of the morning worrying about my parents, wishing they would call. They left from my house in Cincinnati, heading north toward Pittsburgh, hours before I turned on the news. This man broke through my frantic activity. Grief hit, and I cried for what seemed hours. The images etched in my mind expressed themselves on paper this way:
The silence absorbs me.
Soot,
Representing that which once stood
tall and proud,
Falls quietly around me.
Its blackness covers the earth;
It covers me. . .
I wait.
Fear paralyzes me.
Moments pass,
Maybe hours,
until finally
I stand.
My arms raise,
Burdened with the weight
of
Charred existence.
I cry out.
"Have mercy."
No comments:
Post a Comment