9/11: One Possible Future (a poem)

It’s no longer the cosmic shock
so much like late frost kills early buds;
but rather acceptable sadness,
the realization all leaves fall.

It’s no longer the rhythmic flag sway
(America this, that, or them),
the extravagance of anger
became a cross, a mosque, a scar.

It’s no longer about people—
twin towers are labeled: Data, Debris;
ashes in barrels and potpourri bowls,
such casual causalities.

The ground went from zero to sixty;
clock hands hid seconds, seized time,
shook sand over sleep-swollen eyes—
now nothing more than holiday.

It’s a calendar X, a movie, game—
that’s the cold, hard reality;
check this box to initiate pain
and pilot those ill-fated planes.


Copyright ©2011, Angel Zapata

This poem was inspired by the Poetry Matters Celebration word prompts: Reality check, pain, sadness, shock, anger.