Amache,
Gila River,
Heart mountain,

Coarse heavy rocks,
atop a sea of tears,
48 hours,
to change your life,

Cold heavy ropes,
holding down-
the bird,
that used to bathe,
bask in the rays,

remember,
forever,
never forget,

Clipped wings,
scattered feathers,
A rock of weight,
a bird of feather,

No where to go,
but ready to fly.
forgotten.

who died on 9/11
Zoe was only 8 years old
She had a little sister
who was 3 years old
Zoe cared for her sister
Zoe would be in 3rd grade
Maybe reading her favorite book
When she disappeared from this world

Dana was Zoe’s little sister
Dana was the youngest person to die on 9/11
She was just starting to think on her own
Her life was just starting
Dana is the same age as I am
Dana would be in 8th grade
Looking at this memorial

they were only children.
there was still so much
for them to do
Why were their lives taken?

We tiredly traverse an asphalt path,
we talk and stretch. Walk and
look down at one foot after the other.

We feed respect with silence
and stillness
as we wait to honor a hero.

It’s our turn, I walk
feeling indifferent.

His family shares pictures with us.
They rest against his gravestone
I realize this man had a life….
a family.
But how could I feel sad for someone
I never met?

Mr. Montwieler reads a story.
A story that speaks of his heroics and bravery.
He never gave up.
But how could I grieve for someone
I never met?

Then he reads a poem.
And it tells us about things that
don’t realize how important they are.
Things that haven’t realized
what’s in a name.

Then I know how I can grieve
and feel sad for someone I never met.

I look up.

Cold gravestones that seem to never end
reflect sunlight in the same way snow would.

All I see is white among grass.
Marble among green.
While we study his stone I
realize he was
one among many.

Metal arms stretched outward,
wide and open.
Reaching up, grasping
at the stars far above.
Looking out at the next
few days before us,
the places we’ll go,
the adventures we’ll have.
It’s what we think about
as we stare at this open city,
open to possibilities,
open for us to wander
to wonder,
to explore.

The tall cityscape of D.C.
stretches out before us.
The night lights blinking,
the cabs and cars rushing,
small yellow lights moving
and weaving through the streets.
We twirl under the open night sky,
stare out at the city,
our temporary home.

And so we stretch our arms
outward, wide, and open
to all of the possibilities,
and open
to wander and to wonder,
to love and to explore,
and to be open
for what’s to come.

How Must it be
to be someone
watching the Country
that he held together
and kept it from crumbling apart into little bite sized chunks.
Imagine
sitting
not having a voice
but letting your actions
be the Inspiration of a person
who would do something wonderful on these very steps
How does he do it
how does he speak to someone
so far ahead in time
How does he sit so still
like a sentinel
an open hand offering help
and a clenched fist alert and ready
he hasn’t spoken to me
but he’s presented to me a choice
and the decision is all mine.