story6753.xml

story6753.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-09-12

This submission is a thought on the commemoration ceremony held at the World Trade Center on September 11, 2002.

Not like soft summer?s gust
The sharp cold wind that blew?
But more the blast of winter?s breath,
Or lungs collapsed anew.
Was it Caesar?s dying words
That swept the ground with rage?
Or was it echoed children?s screams
In Rwanda?s blood rampage?
Would the wind whip up the haunt
Of ghosts in Chile?s past?
Or would it gasp the final words
Along the Shining Path?
Perhaps, in moments such as these,
Sitting Bull still cries
The warning tones of his defeat,
Or Custer his demise.
Bearing all the particles
Of what no longer stands,
The wind that makes its presence felt
Howls its own demands.

Nothing ever leaves this earth,
No molecule of rain,
Nor wind, nor cell, nor other stuff
That makes us whole again.
No winds, nor storms, nor tears that fall,
Have come from the thin air,
The atoms forming all of this
Started out somewhere.
So let the angry wind that blew
Be their signal here--
Let the hawk caress the cheek
Of loved ones held so dear.
Let the spirits fill the ears,
The mouth, the eyes, the nose,
With dust that comes from sacredness
And blow to whom it chose.
Let the winds untangle locks
And leave the chapped cheeks bare,
For we who know the Hallowed ones
Have told us they?re still there.