One September Morning



Life wasn’t trivial anymore
People began to mean what they say
In dark subways, on dirty street corners
Strangers clasped hands
Day and night, black or white
The middle match of gray
Made safe in the blaze of truth:
The dollar dropping through the market
Numbers just ash, confetti to the wind
The smile at last come current with the sigh
The hug of a stranger more tender than gold.

Parents found their children in the rubble
And children afraid, were reassured
Death, always mysterious
Took his time and place at the table
The napkin folded neatly in his lap
But we, with hands enjoined
In prayer, this breath
Give our need to one another
The taste of bread and water enough
To keep this dream


(First electronically published in This Hard Wind, by EWGPresents, Oct 2002; The Other Voices International Project, Apr 2006)

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