Aftermath

Afternoon sunlight flits / through willow branches / dangling like fern frond / shadows dancing / in my lap / across the tea table beside me / to the wall beyond. / The last doll left at home / stares vacantly / neglected / beside old books. / Maybe a cup of tea / will do me good.

Wrenching grief gives way / to a strange numbness / sunlight can’t dispel. / People I barely knew / or not at all / from eighty nations / meeting in elevators / encased in steel skeletons / bulleted up up up and up / through glass windows / on top of the world / gone one September morning / in a movie reel war /

roiling through skyscraper canyons / now running running running down / in grit-choked dark here, there, nowhere. / I clasp morning papers / like a Bible to my heart / and weep over the tragedy / ashes mixed with ashes / — who can tell the difference / between gray and grey? / The last doll left at home / stares vacantly. Forsaken. / A cup of tea does little good.

 

~ Lines written for the first anniversary of the September 11th event

Author: www.rosesintherainmemoir.wordpress.com

Just short of fifty years of holy matrimony, I am blessed to be a mother of two and grandmother of seven. Much of my writing speaks to the culture and tradition of the Deep South, where I spent the first thirty-five years of my life before relocating to the Pacific Northwest. As a poet and essayist, I’ve published both online and in print media. In mid-February 2019, I launched Roses in the Rain: A Daughter's Story, following a successful couple years of Invitation to the Garden, both on WordPress.com. Watch for upcoming installments to the memoir blog every Tuesday. The garden posts follow on Friday/Saturday. I look forward to hearing from you all!

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