Yes, it persists. It is the closest we've come, in our lifetimes, to war on our soils. Instead, we turned it into a foreign war. Thanks to you, and to any of us who can be honest with ourselves and each other. Blame is a slippery slope. Beautiful words, Elizabeth. I'm sorry for the loss of your dad.
Oh Elizabeth, this is such a beautiful poem. All of it is wonderful, but the section about the dust just broke my heart. This poem captures what we all felt that day, what we witnessed where we were, especially if we weren’t there, but were across the country, watching it on television and feeling so powerless. Thank you so much for sharing this one.
This is beautiful and hard and so fitting. I always wish for cloudy skies and rain on the anniversary. There is something so much harder when it’s a perfect September day, impossibly blue sky, exquisite weather, just like it was then, just like it was today.
"Somber" is one of the threads that runs through the fabric of things, and some days it's an easy thread to see. Thanks for your generous reading, Shari.
Good morning Elizabeth--thank you for sharing this recollection--somber and full of sighs I can almost hear. Yes, the stories..... so many. I shared a poem and reflection this morning on Notes about my experience of that day--my daughter were in New York on September 11th. It is important that we remember--I am forever changed, but also how the day brought out the best in people; it surfaces from time to time and gives me hope.
How frightening for your daughter and for you, Jody. I'll look for your Note; grateful for the reminder of how people rise to awful occasions with kindness and courage.
It was frightening indeed, Elizabeth, something of course we will remember forever.
Hope you don't mind, I just copied the poem and note here:
The Kindness of Strangers-a Sept. 11th Poem
way back then when no one knew the world would
crack the next day, we stood there, tourist trappings
wrapped around us everywhere.
‘howdy’ I said, later that night on the subway.
a silent ride home after dinner with the nephew, no
one but he, myself, and my daughter, it
seemed (surely there were others).
“We’re from Seattle,” I announced, including my girl
with the sweep of my hand. “Visiting him…..”
towards the nephew. “My name’s Peter, I’m a writer,*”
he replied.
‘Who do write for?’ ‘A magazine–Newsweek…’
‘oh.’ and me so impressed, not by his
job but his niceness in New York that carried over to
the exchanged emails (truly!) and the phone call I
made a few days later when, safely arrived at home,
across miles of mayhem and madness I reached
through, asked for him, and heard him say, “Seattle?–
how are you?” and he cared with his questions and
I in turn with mine. He was okay…. recovering in the
City that had been incinerated. We were safe at home
(physically) but the mental and emotional healing
would take many, many months. Years. (and there
would be scars). His concern helped.
Forget everything you’ve ever heard about the fright
of traveling underground in those lightless
places-New York–London–Tokyo-perilously
passing you through the layers underneath– there are
people kind, open, friendly, and no matter where you
are we are all the same– especially on the subway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
In September of 2001 my daughter and I celebrated her graduation from culinary school with a trip to New York City to meet Ruth Reichl, then Editor of ‘Gourmet Magazine’ and author of 3 of our favorite books on cooking. We’d spent 5 glorious days in and around Brooklyn and on September 10th in the evening, met my nephew for drinks at Windows on the World restaurant 70 plus floors up, high in Manhattan. A tremendous summer thunderstorm came through that night, lightning strikes, rain in buckets, soaking us through. We dried out and took the subway home.
The next morning was the day of our appointment. I remember the voice message, ‘see you at 11 on the 11th’ , from Ruth’s assistant. It was a crystal clear, blue sky day. Then the earth moved, the sky filled with ashes and paper glitter and we were forever changed.
I save this poem to remember.
*Plagens. Peter was an art critic and writer for Newsweek.
This poem and reflection were originally published on my author website jodyleecollins dot com in 2012.
Daughter Leah & I at Saks trying on hats; the next day—view of Manhattan from my nephew’s Brooklyn fire escape after the ground stopped shaking.
That is a good way to put it. I think it's important also, especially for those who were too young, to remind them of the lives lost but also the victory of that day and the weeks and months that followed, embodied by so many, friends and strangers alike.
Yes, it persists. It is the closest we've come, in our lifetimes, to war on our soils. Instead, we turned it into a foreign war. Thanks to you, and to any of us who can be honest with ourselves and each other. Blame is a slippery slope. Beautiful words, Elizabeth. I'm sorry for the loss of your dad.
Thank you, my friend. 💛🌿
Some wonderful poems here, Elizabeth. Airplanes and Firehouse are especially fine.
Thank you for reading and commenting, Thomas.
I loved firehouse. Powerful section of this poem.
Thank you, Brian.
Elizabeth, I have no words good enough for these poems.
🙏🏼💛🌿
Powerful and searing. As a 9/11 poem, yours ranks up there with Billy Collins's "The Names."
An honor to have a poem of mine mentioned in the same sentence as one by Mr. Collins. Thanks for reading and commenting, Donald.
Oh Elizabeth, this is such a beautiful poem. All of it is wonderful, but the section about the dust just broke my heart. This poem captures what we all felt that day, what we witnessed where we were, especially if we weren’t there, but were across the country, watching it on television and feeling so powerless. Thank you so much for sharing this one.
Thanks so much for receiving the poem so generously, LeeAnn. 💛🌿
This is beautiful and hard and so fitting. I always wish for cloudy skies and rain on the anniversary. There is something so much harder when it’s a perfect September day, impossibly blue sky, exquisite weather, just like it was then, just like it was today.
Talk about "out of the blue...." I know just what you mean, Tara. Thank you for reading.
These poems are so special and beautiful, Elizabeth.
Thank you, Maureen. 💛🌿
You have rendered me appropriately somber.
The inclusion of your father story adds poignancy to depth
"Somber" is one of the threads that runs through the fabric of things, and some days it's an easy thread to see. Thanks for your generous reading, Shari.
Thank you, Elizabeth,
Thank you for reading, Jeni. 💛🌿
Good morning Elizabeth--thank you for sharing this recollection--somber and full of sighs I can almost hear. Yes, the stories..... so many. I shared a poem and reflection this morning on Notes about my experience of that day--my daughter were in New York on September 11th. It is important that we remember--I am forever changed, but also how the day brought out the best in people; it surfaces from time to time and gives me hope.
How frightening for your daughter and for you, Jody. I'll look for your Note; grateful for the reminder of how people rise to awful occasions with kindness and courage.
It was frightening indeed, Elizabeth, something of course we will remember forever.
Hope you don't mind, I just copied the poem and note here:
The Kindness of Strangers-a Sept. 11th Poem
way back then when no one knew the world would
crack the next day, we stood there, tourist trappings
wrapped around us everywhere.
‘howdy’ I said, later that night on the subway.
a silent ride home after dinner with the nephew, no
one but he, myself, and my daughter, it
seemed (surely there were others).
“We’re from Seattle,” I announced, including my girl
with the sweep of my hand. “Visiting him…..”
towards the nephew. “My name’s Peter, I’m a writer,*”
he replied.
‘Who do write for?’ ‘A magazine–Newsweek…’
‘oh.’ and me so impressed, not by his
job but his niceness in New York that carried over to
the exchanged emails (truly!) and the phone call I
made a few days later when, safely arrived at home,
across miles of mayhem and madness I reached
through, asked for him, and heard him say, “Seattle?–
how are you?” and he cared with his questions and
I in turn with mine. He was okay…. recovering in the
City that had been incinerated. We were safe at home
(physically) but the mental and emotional healing
would take many, many months. Years. (and there
would be scars). His concern helped.
Forget everything you’ve ever heard about the fright
of traveling underground in those lightless
places-New York–London–Tokyo-perilously
passing you through the layers underneath– there are
people kind, open, friendly, and no matter where you
are we are all the same– especially on the subway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
In September of 2001 my daughter and I celebrated her graduation from culinary school with a trip to New York City to meet Ruth Reichl, then Editor of ‘Gourmet Magazine’ and author of 3 of our favorite books on cooking. We’d spent 5 glorious days in and around Brooklyn and on September 10th in the evening, met my nephew for drinks at Windows on the World restaurant 70 plus floors up, high in Manhattan. A tremendous summer thunderstorm came through that night, lightning strikes, rain in buckets, soaking us through. We dried out and took the subway home.
The next morning was the day of our appointment. I remember the voice message, ‘see you at 11 on the 11th’ , from Ruth’s assistant. It was a crystal clear, blue sky day. Then the earth moved, the sky filled with ashes and paper glitter and we were forever changed.
I save this poem to remember.
*Plagens. Peter was an art critic and writer for Newsweek.
This poem and reflection were originally published on my author website jodyleecollins dot com in 2012.
Daughter Leah & I at Saks trying on hats; the next day—view of Manhattan from my nephew’s Brooklyn fire escape after the ground stopped shaking.
It came so close to us I wonder if I’ll ever not feel the shock of it.
That is a good way to put it. I think it's important also, especially for those who were too young, to remind them of the lives lost but also the victory of that day and the weeks and months that followed, embodied by so many, friends and strangers alike.