The Aftermath of New York: A Simple Poem
(Thought of at the National September Eleventh Memorial, 6/11/17)
I was asleep in my cradle
safe, sound, untouched
miles and miles away from a newly acquired knife in a nation’s heart
when I should have been wide awake
should have let the fear strike me and leave its battle wounds
as it set into the jaws of millions
when the gasoline gushed into the office space
illuminating a man’s face
with sunken eyes on the 101st floor
asking, “Where is God when I have to jump?”
and I know he thought
how he wished he could grow wings
like the jet planes that landed at his feet
like he was living a little boy’s dream
but he didn’t wake up before it turned into a nightmare
and how he wished he could land without feeling any pain
but sometimes the world doesn’t work that way
so he tipped himself over the edge
hoping someone would catch his last words
with a prayer to his family
before he fell
down
down
down
and shattered in a sea of red and rubble
making a fireman’s stomach churn
and President Washington turn over in his grave
so now I stand
where thousands had wished to brush off their shoulders and walk away
or maybe even go back up to save the day
and I watch a leaf fall
down
down
down
silently to the water
and a passerby flip in a coin
because it’s easier than offering a shoulder to cry on
but I’m old enough now to understand
the wrath of an unforgiving world
and I don’t have the heart to scream out that gold doesn’t dry tears
nor does it wash away a sea of red
or dab up spilled gasoline
or mend the beams of the 101st floor
or give a desperate man his very own wings
because where is God when we have to jump?
6/12/17