Thursday, September 11, 2014

Strange Now to Think of You Gone



The reading of the names. A stilted, halting counterpoint of New York-accented voices against my morning routine. Names of the dead. The spreading of the peanut butter, the chink of glass on plate as the dishes are done. Names of the dead. Rattle of dog food in the bowl. Names of the dead. Hum of washing machine. Names of the dead.

Names of the dead. Names of the dead. Trucks on the highway outside my window. Names of the dead.






1 comment:

Ponita in Real Life said...

On CBC radio this morning was an interview with a Winnipeg man (my city) who had travelled to NY, was supposed to meet a new friend that morning to go up the tower to see the view. He delayed his ferry ride and she slept in so neither was caught in that horrific situation through...?? Fate? Divine intervention? Luck?? Who knows. But he said he will always wonder what made him go for a run instead of getting on the ferry at his originally planned departure time.