The planes hit.
Floating on the morning breeze,
down the skyscrapers like human helicopters
making a landing.
And the grief rose like tsunami,
volcano, tremors of shattering earthquake.
All of it muffled in the dust of lovers, friends.
And then the rains they came. -
Cooling the fires of hell and death.
Cleansing. Washing, cadaver, bone fragments,
lives and loves.
To where they collected in the
avenues, subways and underground.
black, white, Jew, Italian.
One in that moment.
And the tough talking native New Yorkers
took their tired, their broken, their rich, their poor.
And the world looked on and wept.
Then the sun arose.
And the wind it lifted.
Particles. Essence. Soul.
Scattering, sifting, seeding.
From north, to south, east to west.
Across the plains, the fields, the mountains.
City-wide. Nationwide. Worldwide.
We carry them on wings of hopes
And, we will remember.
© Mari Maxwell
US marks 9/11 attacks anniversary
Mari's was longlisted in the 2013 Over The Edge Writing contest as well as previously featured in Poetry 24, Crannog, Revival and numerous other online and print publications in the USA and Ireland.