This is my 9-11 poem…


It will never be as clear

as that black smoke

how much relief was born that day,

or in what form;

the beatings finally over,

the incurable sickness inoculated,

the dull shame of loving the wrong gender

forever buried

in the breakable steel.


You must believe that marriages

headed for ruin

were spared the public disgrace

and the private divisions;

the children blessed

to be left with nothing

to stand between them

and the happy lie of ignorance.


In addition to those who meant to kill,

there must have been a few

who survived safely on the other side of town

or in another state or country

who were inwardly pleased

to learn of a certain death;

a debt suddenly erased,

or a secret vaporized

in the painless explosion of cells.


I like to think that one of the named dead

survived, stumbled away;

the fathomable unfathomable event

having just provided an end

needed to begin again;

to step into the bright freedom

of anonymity,

where it might be possible to experience

the longed for joy of unabusive love

and maybe bring into the world

at least one child that otherwise,

if the skies of that blue day

had been left undisturbed,

would never have been born.



DeMaris Gaunt



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