in the city streets after 9-11…

in the city streets after 9-11…

a walk away from the giant scar
where two towers had graced the sky
far from the memorial attended by invited thousands
we cut over to 7th avenueto grab a ‘bite’ and some NYC culture at famous STAGE DELI accompanied by a waitress bemoaning about her lost tips
the late afternoon turned colder and suddenly greyer
past citizens walking talking going about their work-a-day lives
far from the memories of that day of death
that day of death for all those rescuers
police fire others just attempting to ‘help’
all mashed together in our memories and we slowly walked back-up 9th avenue
past the IRAQ RESTAURANT
name emblazoned in an outline map of bright red neon
patrons dressed in coats, hats, scarves
all alike faces drawn with age and frightened sorrow
as if they were relatives of one-clan
huddled together toward the back far away from windows in dark-sepia tones
like some serigraphs from centuries ago
waiting for the vengeance of NYers
that would never come upon them
the light quickly faded into blue-violet night at fall in this city
and suddenly we were at what we thought was an outdoor flower market
flowers everywhere bright bouquets which burst forth in colours and fragrant aromas
while young girls and old women walked among a peristyle reticulum of potted plants
silent saying nothing never speaking never acknowledging the presence of others
carefully to arrange flowers in calculated rows
and we realized this was one of the fire engine houses
that had answered those alarm bells that had rung
on that day of unannounced death
while the smell of fresh flowers scented the chill air
and i gasped and fell to my knees overcome knowing there was nothing to do
helpless crying for all the children who would never see their fathers again
crying for all the mothers who would never greet their children again
weeping uncontrollable tears for all the lovers that would never feel
hot breaths from naked concupiscent partners
again weeping for the pent-up emotions that I thought to hide so well
watching/observing those tear-choked masses at that memorial
as if i was of greater control
greater opprobrium
a greater controlled facade
about not letting my emotions reveal
that i had known many of those who had perished
leaping or buried under buildings fiery demise
i wept on my knees in that street
like Rachel weeping and wailing
in Ramah for children she would never see again…©

SEP 2001