I was a sophomore
sitting in science class
when men and women fell
50 some stories,
when the innards of the giant twin
exploded in brilliant orange -
a subsequent cloud of darkness.
The devil lurked
in that shadow of twisted metal.
I watched in shock
too numb to understand,
too oblivious of the truth,
as floor crashed upon floor
of the collapsing tower,
black dust descending
in a great rain,
down,
down,
down,
rock bottom -
a cacophony of rubble,
a mixture of flesh, of fire, of death,
of wood, glass, and steel,
office chairs and desks
of ears, whole bodies, and brains
all ashes.
I remember
how the collective dream ended,
like swerving to avoid collision,
the adrenaline rush
a whip that lashed the world awake.
The headlights glared
exposing us,
all of us,
defining us,
shaping us.
The smoke from the smoldering twins
poured out a trail of innocence
that faded into the morning light.
During this tenth nightmare
I see the photographs,
the familiar scene,
and can't believe
it wasn't a dream
because now it resides
in my mind,
an ink-blotted blur
that only finds focus
in memorial.
