(no subject)
You told me the stench was unbearable.
You tried to explain
think barbecue.
Barbecue,
rotting, stinking, 3 day old, burnt to a crisp, re-lit barbecue
the snow had stopped falling
the fires still burned.
Barbecue
some days the smell follows you home.
You brought home images of your old building
with steel beams through the windows.
This is your past connecting with your present
your present being able to move into the past
army boots, camouflage, body parts.
The second plane hit.
You started down the stairs and out the door,
just to get a head start.
You stopped in front of the Garden
the snow had begun to fall.
You missed the empty streets
days later you return
the scene from your window altered
months later the pain began
the snow had stopped
the fires extinguished
your sole enemy the air you breathe.
Larger smells, visions, sounds, pieces
brought down to a microscopic level, particles
glass, asbestos, concrete.
Ashes,
dust and dirt.
You told me to go on Fulton street.
To see the view.
You told me,
you have to see this
you have to experience this
because you'll never be able to experience this,
like I did.
You do not know what my ritual became.
Sitting in front of a controlled screen
everyday, viewing pictures again and again
seeing the same moment from seven different angles.
Moving or unmoving.
Trying to imagine eating exotic fruit,
down abandoned streets,
the snow gray instead of white.
You tried to explain
think barbecue.
Barbecue,
rotting, stinking, 3 day old, burnt to a crisp, re-lit barbecue
the snow had stopped falling
the fires still burned.
Barbecue
some days the smell follows you home.
You brought home images of your old building
with steel beams through the windows.
This is your past connecting with your present
your present being able to move into the past
army boots, camouflage, body parts.
The second plane hit.
You started down the stairs and out the door,
just to get a head start.
You stopped in front of the Garden
the snow had begun to fall.
You missed the empty streets
days later you return
the scene from your window altered
months later the pain began
the snow had stopped
the fires extinguished
your sole enemy the air you breathe.
Larger smells, visions, sounds, pieces
brought down to a microscopic level, particles
glass, asbestos, concrete.
Ashes,
dust and dirt.
You told me to go on Fulton street.
To see the view.
You told me,
you have to see this
you have to experience this
because you'll never be able to experience this,
like I did.
You do not know what my ritual became.
Sitting in front of a controlled screen
everyday, viewing pictures again and again
seeing the same moment from seven different angles.
Moving or unmoving.
Trying to imagine eating exotic fruit,
down abandoned streets,
the snow gray instead of white.