tuesday morning

Photo: Creative Commons

Photo: Creative Commons

| |

bitter confusion

a cup of coffee


for clouds to clear on a clear day


until they reappear

_ |

the empty cup

sitting cold

waiting again

to find nothing there

awake or still asleep

insecurity blankets a silent morning

_ _

the drive to work

the workday

the drive home

still faces

blank time

floating moments in silent skies


the evening sun fades on the horizon

of a day that ends

with recurring bytes

of tuesday morning seared

into a consciousness

in mourning

” “







About the Poem: Fractured, confused, blank – these words describe my recollection of the events of September 11, 2001 as they unfolded for me, like many Americans, on television on what should have been an ordinary workday.

Just as unforgettable was the clear sense that the American conscience too was punctuated with profound change.

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