Tuesday, September 06, 2011


I will not speak of it.

That will make it true.
My words will give form
to your hands, as your reach out
for me. I will feel your warm
breath on my skin. Your voice
will ring in my ears. Keep calm.
Take your time. I will hear you
laughing at my fear.

I could dream the months
of waiting away. Would you return
in the shape of strident knocking
on our front door, a plain,
buff envelope flopping onto the hall floor,
the hint of a footfall?

While the images spool
round and round, we watch
the impact, hear no sound,
towers crumble to the ground,
rise up once more,
then crash back down.

I will not see the uniform, his face,
Or sense his stumbling words
Numb in my ears. A body
Will not be found. That time
Will not come.

I will not speak of it.