It has always been difficult to speak of 9/11. It is an event for which words seem completely inadequate. Recently, I have had conversations with several people who are dealing with deep grief. Thinking about the subject brought this poem to life, with the realization that each of us handles grief in our very personal way, and that, as the whole nation grieved ten years ago, we realized our bond with one another through this terrible event. Regardless of the cause for grief, it can be relieved, if not eliminated, over time with compassion and grace, through the warmth of human contact.
(on the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001)
Grief lays heavy, splits the heart and sends a cry
upward to the spine of heaven, from where it descends
like indigo rain pummeling a tin roof of disbelief.
Hope falls in jigsaw shapes on vacant space,
recognized but not familiar, reminiscent of all things
broken beyond repair, where nothing fills the void.
Relief seems a hollow oath repeating wait, wait –
there is no healing, no reversal of fortune to sustain
while walls collapse; even the stars have forgotten
how to find peace, how to return to resilience.
Still, the resolute force of life demands to be seen
like jewels on the surface where wrecked remains
gather to wait, wait for release of fear and hate,
where songs are once again sung for the sacred flame
of survival, here in the perfect moment of now.