Do you remember?

On the ninth month, the eleventh day

of the year two thousand and one.

I remember the eleventh day,

it repeats itself in my mind.

World history class was where I sat,

we were among the first to know.

To know that a tragedy occurred,

as both teacher and students

gathered around the TV

staring in shock, disbelief.

Who would know that in world history class

I would witness history being made?

I got up, to sit on the floor alone

until friend and classmates joined me.

Looking in the eyes of a friend

they said unspoken, “why?”

Bell chimed, breaking the stupor,

feet mechanically guided me down

the hall, as I stared ahead numbly.

Some still did not know.

Next class passed, as I

entered an eerie, silent hallway.

Everything seemed to stop when

we watched wide eyed.

Staring out the bus

later in the day

I watched life continue.

At home I asked, “Do you know?”

“Yes,” mother and brother replied.

That’s all I needed to hear.

I sat alone in my room,

I sat there for a while.

Next day taking a candle

fire burned on the wick.

I walked to the street corner,

flags on each house

swayed in the late summer breeze.

My candle burned strong

and burned stronger when

family, friends, and children

joined me in my plight.

Passing cars bearing witness

to a renewed sense of patriotism.

Passing spirits bearing witness

to a renewed sense of hope.

Author’s Note: I wrote this poem a year after the events and can still remember. The thing I remember is that the sky was so blue, yet the streets were gray. I wrote a poem on that day, but I haven’t shown anyone. So this poem is a tribute that I haven’t forgotten.