My 9/11 poems -- not exactly the official version

[Generic Other]

Darkness

Darkness envelops windows taped shut
Black plastic to blot out the light.
Door in deadbolts even the peephole
Taped shut.

Coffee table reading: civil defense manual
opens to a diagram of a fall-out shelter.

The phone is blinking
72 new messages on the machine.

In the dusky light the oversized couch cushions
raise dust. Somewhere above sea level
behind concrete
containment
walls
Downwind of the rainbow

a line of yellow tape
a clicking noise
Dorothy’s ruby slippers

melting into hot pools
where the things that you fear
really do threaten to come true.
**************


Twilight in Babel

for the Homeland:
O brilliant and gifted galaxy
distilled to one state-of-the-art black hole
like a mountain inverted
the remainder squeezed
through a tunnel of wires,
a restricted zone of
satellite dishes turning in unison like locks
behind massive steel doors,
six-stories of subterranean order,
three thousand rooms below ground level.

Here, rumor rises like smoke;
bomb sniffing
dogs follow the scent of
every official order

to strip search the shadows;

listening devices
monitor surreptitious thought
recorded in exponential increments
for national security.

Above ground beyond the bunker,
the sweet sticky smell of overripe apples,
sunflowers heavy with darkness.
Even the moon seems farther away.

Jets shriek past in the night.

No one is safe.

No one speaks.

*****************
The city breathes fire—
a choking blaze singes the air

The absence of human remains
in the minutes after impact

No warning of danger
unwinding with
the explosive force of
1000 tons of TNT

Not a single cloud
in the blue sky, no foreshadowing
of the warhead hurtling to its destination,

or the sanitized hands of the pilot
who takes careful aim at his target.

Only a few glance up, take note
at the sound of engines.
1000 offices echo in empty towers,
and far from the center of the city,
factories and industrial smokestacks
blot the skyline.

A deep shadow passes over the fields
following the direction of the wind.

The pilot checks the time and
begins his descent plotting an
unbending course
determined weeks and days
before take-off, years even

strategic flights
that wind back through the chain of command

A general’s signature.
An official document that authorizes action.

The president plays golf.
An aide whispers in his ear.
In the voting booth,
1000 citizens push the button.
******************

It’s a Strangelove Life

If George Bailey had never been born,
Mr. Potter and the gang at the Bedford Falls
Savings and Loan might not have pushed
the button that sent the wing commanders
scurrying to bomb the world into purity.

They say whenever you hear a bell ring
another weapon has been paid for,
another mission accomplished.

In the cockpit, when the countdown reaches lift-off
Clarence will smile strapped in a padded flightsuit
looking amazingly like an angel in a straightjacket.

In the war room, Dr. Strangelove will salute the air,
his iron fist raised, his middle finger aimed
like a strategic weapon. The end when it comes

will be like coca cola exploding in a vending machine.

[iemitsu]

1. these are beautiful poems, generic.

thanks for sharing your memories (and interpretations)of this event in our past.
people need to remember that historical events don't happen in a vacuum and that they can't be understood without considering the context.