A Poem for Today
I am Tired of Remembering September 11th
A clear blue sky.
No traffic.
No work.
I remember September 11th.
A missing spouse.
No notice.
No calls.
I remember September 11th.
A moment on the balcony.
No planes.
No noise.
I remember September 11th.
A tortured homecoming.
No guilt.
No blame.
I remember September 11th.
A knock at the door.
No warning.
No expectation.
I remember September 11th.
A dinner with friends.
No cuisine.
No laughter.
I remember September 11th.
A night on the futon.
No clarity.
No context.
I remember September 11th.
A bad sleep.
No comfort.
No rest.
I remember September 11th.
Another working day.
Another clear blue sky.
Another kiss on the cheek goodbye.
But more sadness day by day.
I remember September 11th.
Friends ask: “What was it like in DC on that day?”
I tell them about the clear blue sky.
I tell them about the silence overhead.
I tell them about my wife coming through the door.
I tell them about friends picking us up for dinner.
I tell them about the near-empty Vietnamese restaurant.
I tell them about watching hours of news huddled with my wife on the futon.
I tell them about shock. And horror. And distant Pentagon smoke.
But there is one thing I never tell them:
I am tired of remembering September 11th.
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