September 11
I come home from work
And my wife has made pasta for dinner.
Our oldest boy sits down to eat
And we lift the baby to
The table and talk about the day
Where planes collided with buildings
That fell while people died
And the baby eats and
Then eats more
And sorrow weighs most
Heavily on us as he weakens
Even as he consumes the
Sorrows of the world
and the stars seem
Aligned to topple us all
As the heavens erupt into the scattered
Summer fruit left over on the table
Reminding us of the whole
Universe.
April 2025
About This Poem
I think this one is a work in progress. September has all kinds of emotions in it, from the end of summer to the beginning of fall, and the worst day in the USA so far (hopefully for all of it) in this century. But it is achingly beautiful anyway. Our family went through some real trials during that year when the towers fell and that's the reference I make to the baby. I don't know if this poem completely meets the emotions I want to convey about September, but it's a start. The picture is on Kootenay Lake and the Selkirk Mountains in British Columbia (a lake safe from being renamed by a tyrannical American president). I think it's appropriate to have Canada included in my September emotions because we often vacation on this very lake in September. And like September, this shot is achingly beautiful.
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