9/11 non-song

I didn’t feel as close to the fire as I actually was. 

So I never realized how burnt I had become.

I was removed by a polarizing lack of loss.  Suddenly a tourist in my own city as it crumbled around me.  After it had been built before me.  Without me.

This ire wasn’t mine.


I still don’t notice the char until I’m reminded by the date. 

The month and day have acquired a mute reverence

More hollowed than the monotonous mark of the passing of time. 

I never felt the heat of rage.  But I did sink.

There was a terrible fall. There was damage.

There is now a thick layer of scar I cannot penetrate for excavation. 


I tried to write about it.  I tried to sing about it. 

But I felt impertinent waxing poetic about a fire I didn’t feel. 

Songwriting wasn’t the way in. It may never open for me that way. 

I am waiting for the sting. 

 still waiting to feel the glow. The heat. Anything other than sheer weight. 


Just to be able to write an honest word.


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