My Dear Friends:
On this 25th anniversary of 9/11, I would like to share a few poems reflecting on how we—Americans and non-Americans alike—remember this tragedy: not only through the lens of individual grief, but also against the heavy sociopolitical and geopolitical landscape shaped by the “War on Terror.”
false dawn
in a bead of grass dew —
September 11
another year
another “thoughts and prayers” —
9/11, grayer
And after ...
Facing south, a sea of white empty chairs, 2,753 in all, flooded the lawn of Bryant Park, Midtown Manhattan. One for each person. Not a breath of air. This burden of hushed silence...
blinds drawn
against the light of dawn
9/11, yet not
FYI: This is a sequel to my haibun below:
An Unofficial Story, A Haibun
for Oskar
ink-black:
smoke trails a life
from the north tower
Another sleepless night. Winter moonlight on the empty side of her bed. From the bedside table, she picks up A Place of Remembrance: The Official Photo Book of 9/11. She stares at the book for a moment. The tears roll down her face as she rips out some of the pages. With a sigh, she puts the torn-out pages in reverse order. When she flips through them, dozens of people are flying through the windows back into the building.
Comment by cattails Haibun Editor Sonam Chhoki: The power of Chen-ou Liu’s haibun, "An Unofficial Story for Oskar" lies in its closing sentence: “When she flips through them, dozens of people are flying through the windows back into the building.” It is amazingly evocative image that has echoes of redemption and freedom from the tyranny of time.
Retracing and Reflecting
for those who have journeyed heavily across the landscape of the heart
the light of dawn
on September Twelfth
the time it takes
for leaves zigzagging
to the dust-choked ground
off the tower
one after many sped downward —
Muslim lives
and our world ripped by the day
before and forever
the footprint
of each tower that once stood
now surrounded
by four walls of water and grief
an Afghan woman's look
FYI: The dedication alludes to Melvina Young's remark:
Sadness takes its own time. It can't be hurried along. It can't be rushed. It "moves heavily across the landscape of the heart" until time and love can carry it further into the distance.