REMEMBERING 9/11
I was driving to the doctor’s office when a plane hit the World Trade Center
And I didn’t hear a thing.
I was parking my car when those looking out their windows
At the burning building next door
Were told to go back to their seats; everything was all right.
They were sitting there waiting for the second plane
When it landed on their desks.
I was watching a group of children play with Legos—
Red, blue, yellow.
There are probably new building blocks in the office now—
Red, white and blue.
We were all smiling and watching them when the buildings fell,
And a collective scream started in
And swelled across the entire country
And never stopped.
And we didn’t hear a thing.
A young woman on the 104th floor felt the air in her office pushing her,
And grabbed hold of a door.
She watched as the pressure around the room
Blew her window out, into the sun,
Dropping it who knows where, somewhere out there.
She held on to the door, which held on to its fragile hinges,
And watched her desk slide right out into the sky
And drop.
Her doodles and indecipherable numbers,
Printed in long columns on this mornings’ cash flow report,
May have flown as far as Flatbush in
Pieces of people and their last thoughts landed there.
A young woman on the sidewalk outside
Talking to her friend on a cell-phoneWas last heard to say,
“A plane just hit the
A filthy young man wept to the TV cameras,
Trying to explain how very black total darkness is.
“I held my hand in front of my face,
And poked myself in the eye.”
It was 10:30 before I saw my doctor,
A nice American of Arabic descent.
He asked me if I knew anyone in
My son, the actor,
Who worked in the
Friends, relatives.
My niece moved this year from
My nephew moved from
My son was sleeping a few blocks away.
He was too tired to go to the gym, so he didn’t catch the 9:00 train.
It took me two hours to find that out.
“Do you know what happened?” my doctor asked.
He was the one to tell me.
I smiled neatly.
My head kept nodding up and down.
I walked out without telling the receptionist I was going.
I drove to work and saw silent people staring at the TV.
I didn’t know I was crying until I was standing in the office
And there were tears on my face.
The secretary told me that her son, one block form the site,
Had called to say he was fine.
My son hadn’t called.
That’s when I heard the screams.
They sounded like hollow silence.
“I’m sure he’s all right,” someone else said.
What makes you sure? I wanted to ask.
He didn’t call his mother.
I remember leaving my office because I couldn’t bear to be there.
I couldn’t bear to be seen in my fear.
I remember saying, “I can’t stay here,” and walking across the floor.
I can’t remember the drive home.
I can’t remember going upstairs to my room.
I only remember dialing his number.
“All circuits are busy.”
Inside the third dimension of our TV screen
Survivors wept through stories:Of how people walked to the doors and stepped into the dark of the stairwell;
Of self-appointed traffic cops who helped fellow workers to safety as they stayed behind.
The stairs were dark and crowded.
The water sprinklers didn’t work.
I can’t forget that.
The heat from the towers caused the collapse of the building.
Does that mean the building might have remained standing
If the water sprinklers had worked?
“I can’t forget the people I saw staying behind to help
others.
I don’t think they made it.”You couldn’t all stay behind.
Someone had to be hero enough to lead the way.
A young husband said goodbye to his wife
From a hijacked plane.
The living dead chose to end their journey their own way.
People fell or jumped from the clouds.
The strength to choose—the indomitable spirit.
All of the over simplified sayings take on new meaning.
Out of 50,000 missing people we had only found 6,344.
Dialing his number.
Over and over and over, andWhen I tried to think of something more creative, I failed,
So I dialed his number again.
“Hello?”
“Is my son there?”
“Yes. He’s sleeping. Should I wake him up?”
“No, that’s okay. Tell him his mother loves him.”
I called my daughter to give her the news, but she was on her way to me.
I called the office to give them the news, but they were closed.
I stood in the driveway, unassured.
Dial his number, his sister beside me.
Dial his number, “All circuits are busy.”
“Hello?”
“How do you know he’s sleeping? Did you see him?”
“Yes. Would you like me to wake him up?”
“Yes.”
Wonderful, confused sleepy voice.
Alive and well and sleeping in Brooklyn.
His sister spoke with him for hours.
The first day we watched in horror.
The second day we bathed ourselves in grief.
The third day we looked for explanations.
By the fourth day six people in the office complained loudly
Because they couldn’t listen to their favorite music stations
Without having to hear news reports.
Other 9/11 Poems:
NOT KNOWING
Unbidden, tears wash my face,
recognized as salt
on my tongue.
Frantic fingers
touch your number
over and over.
Blessed relief --
That beloved voice.
And new tears --
of joyous guilt.
You are safe.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
CONTACT
I know your schedule so well --
The train at nine
at the World Trade Center.
Home at nine-thirlty,
where I can reach you.
Fear erased my memory of getting here.
The hour of unbearable
yearning
Until I heard your voice.
Now I leave the line open
For other mothers'
frantic fingers ---
Calling.
Calling.
