The sun does not seem to get discouraged, <br />it has risen and set more than 2,000 times <br />since that day the world we knew ended, <br /> <br />when I turned on the radio and the announcer <br />seemed to be narrating some latter-day 'War of the Worlds' <br />or playing old tapes of the '93 World Trade Center bombing <br />on its anniversary, but then listening more I learned <br /> <br />that the unthinkable had happened, <br />the lovely, twin needle-spires I used to gaze on, <br />silvered by the sun, from a hill on Staten Island, <br />in whose bowels I used to catch <br />the train to New Jersey, <br /> <br />those mighty, lovely objects <br />were gone forever, <br />blasted towers of the tarot, <br />and inside, a towering sense <br />of the stability of the world I lived in <br />crashed and fell in mirrored response. <br /> <br />Since then, the Asian tsunami, <br />the end of New Orleans as we knew it, <br />genocide in Darfur <br /> <br />and yet somehow my world goes on, <br />habits reconstitute themselves, <br />even the sense of the ordinary <br />survived and inconspicuously <br />returned one day <br />and is looking at me now <br />from across the table, <br /> <br />for the mind and senses <br />are not adequate to all this<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/11sept2-september-11-2007/
