Monday, September 13, 2010

My Mother's 9/11

When they fell
We rose up.
They fell on an island,
Now priceless
Once bought with beads.
In a war den,
Five sided,
And on a simple, empty field.

Though I hear their names,
There are too many to remember.
How can it be possible,
That I know not even one
Of so many who fell.

Yet I will never forget their faces,
Shining out from tacked-up photos,
Or the faces of the broken-hearted
Searching, hoping.
Will they ever heal?
And the faces of the children
Innocent, unknowing,
Or knowing too much.
The faces of those offering aid
Any sort of rescue.

These faces said to me:
Deep is the love we have for each other.
No one can kill that.

They fell.
But what happened then is
We rose up.

Carol MacDuffee Hanson
two years later
September 11, 2003

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