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.