Beyond a Childhood [A 9/11 Poetry Duo]
Sun shines, no clouds, perfect day.
It's cool for September in Texas and
fall breezes brush at my tightly bound hair
as I skip in to school.
Math is first, right now,
and I love my teacher.
Innocence weighted around my
protesting shoulders,
as I tell stories about knives and scars
and what I think terror is.
Then, the bell.
We wander in, telling our own jokes,
falling one by one to the
silence
that permeates the room.
The television's on,
an oddity, a rarity,
and the images on it have to be from a movie.
Shock and horror, muted
Volume down on the reordering of the world.
Announcements, as we gape,
the last few pranksters realizing reality.
Teachers, turn off your televisions.
Unspoken,
Protect the innocence.
In the pursuit of knowledge,
disobedience.
She explains, in a far away voice as we
sit, staring at what we know not.
They are falling. The towers are falling.
I had no clue, before
that day.
There were towers in New York
they would be there, if I knew of them
or not.
I look at my desk, pigtails
slipping already out of
my hair. The air hung with
silence. She looked like crying.
Lunch comes, and in the sunshine
four girls sit, who now
forget each other.
A brick I made,
from chalk and water, experiment.
I pound it from its water-bottle mould
in silence.
We cannot speak of what we do not understand,
yet. We think it cannot be real.
We did not learn math that day.
Later that day, a church service, and
like a child,
I run through the halls.
I pretend to forget, and manage.
Television crews are there,
they interview the pastor.
Us kids attempt to nonchalantly
break into the shot.
We sing.
Sugar ants crawl between my bare toes.
I do not know more than one verse to
"America the Beautiful." so I hum,
and mother grasps my hand tightly.
The adults are crying.
I am told I dreamed that the house was burning.
The next day, the world is different.
The announcements take a different tone.
And in the halls we ask each other
Did you see me?
I was on TV!
Irreverence in action, but how could we tell?
It's already been filed as movie, as fairy tale.
As something for the adults to deal with.
A month and I tell my teacher:
We are at war! And somehow,
I'm excited. History, in the making.
Why shouldn't I be excited?
Vividly, a series of pictures
are all I remember, though I remember them well.
The sun, the green, the life around me as I learned of grey clouded death.
The itchy carpet between my toes, the starburst I ate (lemon, I believe)
when the sugar ants crawled around.
Orders ignored-knowledge gained,
American flag pins sold for donations at school.
and the horrible
horrible sight
of those towers hitting the ground.
What must it be-
expectant
joyful
bright
life
and a celebration of it, of everything it-- Suddenly
death
destruction
darkness
loss
What must it be.
It's cool for September in Texas and
fall breezes brush at my tightly bound hair
as I skip in to school.
Math is first, right now,
and I love my teacher.
Innocence weighted around my
protesting shoulders,
as I tell stories about knives and scars
and what I think terror is.
Then, the bell.
We wander in, telling our own jokes,
falling one by one to the
silence
that permeates the room.
The television's on,
an oddity, a rarity,
and the images on it have to be from a movie.
Shock and horror, muted
Volume down on the reordering of the world.
Announcements, as we gape,
the last few pranksters realizing reality.
Teachers, turn off your televisions.
Unspoken,
Protect the innocence.
In the pursuit of knowledge,
disobedience.
She explains, in a far away voice as we
sit, staring at what we know not.
They are falling. The towers are falling.
I had no clue, before
that day.
There were towers in New York
they would be there, if I knew of them
or not.
I look at my desk, pigtails
slipping already out of
my hair. The air hung with
silence. She looked like crying.
Lunch comes, and in the sunshine
four girls sit, who now
forget each other.
A brick I made,
from chalk and water, experiment.
I pound it from its water-bottle mould
in silence.
We cannot speak of what we do not understand,
yet. We think it cannot be real.
We did not learn math that day.
Later that day, a church service, and
like a child,
I run through the halls.
I pretend to forget, and manage.
Television crews are there,
they interview the pastor.
Us kids attempt to nonchalantly
break into the shot.
We sing.
Sugar ants crawl between my bare toes.
I do not know more than one verse to
"America the Beautiful." so I hum,
and mother grasps my hand tightly.
The adults are crying.
I am told I dreamed that the house was burning.
The next day, the world is different.
The announcements take a different tone.
And in the halls we ask each other
Did you see me?
I was on TV!
Irreverence in action, but how could we tell?
It's already been filed as movie, as fairy tale.
As something for the adults to deal with.
A month and I tell my teacher:
We are at war! And somehow,
I'm excited. History, in the making.
Why shouldn't I be excited?
Vividly, a series of pictures
are all I remember, though I remember them well.
The sun, the green, the life around me as I learned of grey clouded death.
The itchy carpet between my toes, the starburst I ate (lemon, I believe)
when the sugar ants crawled around.
Orders ignored-knowledge gained,
American flag pins sold for donations at school.
and the horrible
horrible sight
of those towers hitting the ground.
What must it be-
expectant
joyful
bright
life
and a celebration of it, of everything it-- Suddenly
death
destruction
darkness
loss
What must it be.