James had an assignment to write a poem for class about the ten year anniversary of 9/11. We were watching the reading of the names on television Sunday morning, talking about who was where, how frightening a time it was (my husband one of those running in the street covered in ash, glass in his hair, out of contact with us for ten hours), and James came up with this poem which I think is quite good.
As people stand hearing names
of people lost and gone, friends
and family never coming home, I
watch their faces.
Standing there, hearing the names
ten years later, wondering why.
Rubbing the names with pencils
and crayons onto paper at the fountain
of tears, endlessly pouring.