Very early, on a sunny September morning in 2001, I was working for Coca-Cola as a sales representative. I remember hearing on the radio about some terrorist attacks in America– especially on the World Trade Center. I recall pulling into a McDonalds for some breakfast and on the TV screens inside there was footage of the WTC attacks and the subsequent collapses. It was a strange experience. The images were almost unbelievable. Everyone in the restaurant was quiet, except for the occasional hushed expression of disbelief. Even as I drove around in my work car later that day things were different. Relatively quiet. More somber. At the traffic lights I noticed that people just looked straight ahead in their cars. There were no casual, bored glances across to other cars. No loud music played. Just people sitting quietly.
Like countless millions of people, even though I didn’t know anyone personally involved in the events of 9/11, the attacks left a deep impression on me. In an attempt to express how I felt about September 11, I wrote the following ‘poem’. I’m not much of a poet, but I do my best to express myself. If you’re a poetry fan, don’t get your hopes up. Nonetheless, below is my attempt to articulate my own processing of those tragic events. Make of it what you will.
Parts of the Heart – about September 11, 2001
The morning light, the crisp air and the breeze
quicken to my senses and fill my soul with all they are;
I see the sun in its majesty; I feel its warmth as for the first time;
the breeze moves and dwells in peace – always at work yet always at rest.
These pleasures so simple embrace me like a friend.
Yet in certain places the sun seems cold and uncaring today;
In those places all it reveals are things it does not know.
The breeze too, is unaware of the great and terrible things it bears:
of ash, dust, smoke and flames. It cannot sense grief and pain.
Unlike the breeze and the mighty sun, my heart cannot escape these things.
While I stood there, useless, aghast with horror,
evil slipped a piece of poisoned fruit into my open mouth.
Numb and still, I did not feel it pass my teeth and tongue.
It slid down my throat and lodged within the depths of me;
Its poison washed into my soul, murdering peace inside.
Like Adam walking from the garden of innocence,
things will not be the same as they were before;
for now I have seen the human heart at its worst.
I see the planes, the buildings, the flames and
I imagine all who were there. I feel my soul sink with dread.
What if that was me, or someone in my family? What then?
Perhaps the question is, why WASN’T that me? Or us?
These questions spill onto the ground and my feet slip on them.
A part of my heart is numb with grief; another part with terror.
Another is filled with smoke and ash – choking, dying.
And yet other parts are quite bright, like the shining faces of children:
they still lift me when I see them, but there are fewer than before;
Their innocent eyes tell me that some of them have fallen asleep
and they cannot wake them.
spes clara 