in memoriam…
Ask me if I remember any of their far-away names,
those swallowed by that black September day.
I will say no, but I do remember hers.
She shook at the office door
to say ‘Something’s happened.’
We stepped to a room where screens
broadcast O beautiful’s scourge.
We stood quiet as image after image eroded our shores of amber grain.
We strained against distance but our bodies never touched; ours was the more perfect union of loss.
She searched my eyes for purchase but certainty had crumbled into the sea shining with smoke and doubt. Ask me if I remember any of their far-away names, those raptured into spacious skies that September day.
I will say no, but I do remember her,
as I remember me, cast ready-or-not
further east of the garden.
I remember Ellen.
She shook at the office door
to say ‘Something’s happened.’
We stepped to a room where screensbroadcast O beautiful’s scourge.
We stood quiet as image after image eroded our shores of amber grain.
We strained against distance but our bodies never touched; ours was the more perfect union of loss.
She searched my eyes for purchase but certainty had crumbled into the sea shining with smoke and doubt. Ask me if I remember any of their far-away names, those raptured into spacious skies that September day.
I will say no, but I do remember her,
as I remember me, cast ready-or-not
further east of the garden.
I remember Ellen.
Mercy… pure poetry! Beauty from ashes, John. Thank you for working at words like this!
Thanks for dropping by, Sam…we’ve got to do the same and see ‘the boy!’
I remember the 1st year class of law students and Susanna, who thought for the better part of 3 hours that her uncle was on one of those planes.
You remember Susanna…I remember Ellen…thanks for naming, its powerful in our lives.
John, I remember my friend Iman Hussein, one of our accountants who just happened to be Palestinian (very unusual in south Texas). The first reports speculated that either Hezzbollah or Hamas were the culprits. “Must have been the Palestinians”. Iman hid in her office while we were in the conference room staring at TVs. I searched her out. She asked, “what are they saying down there?” I told her that nobody was talking at all – there were no words for what we were watching. She was so scared. She eventually figured out that we were going to rally around her. But this woman – this beautiful, wonderful woman – who thought she had escaped war (she is from Ramallah and knows the sound of gunfire as background noise) saw war come to the shores of her adopted country. There is nowhere to hide when terrorists strike, is there? It comes to us all. I remember Iman, the peace-loving accountant who tried to hide from us.
Carolyn, remembering is a way to honor, isn’t it? Thanks so much for sharing a glimpse of Iman, and yourself.