On September 11th

I am at a loss.  I have no words.  I've tried all day.  TBG has offered suggestions, Little Cuter told me to stop apologizing for crying for no reason.... or maybe there was a reason.... I'm not entirely sure.  I do know that I was surrounded by love and concern and that I was able to offer the same to friends who were in need.

The words to write to you are absent from my brain.  Did Little Cheese know that when she sent me this poem?  Good friends do seem to have your pulse, even from thousands of miles away, don't they?

It needs no more introduction that that which Little Cheese had as the subject of the email: Read by Billy Collins at Ground Zero, 9/11/11

The Names

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name --
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner --
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

******

...barely room, indeed.

Talking and Listening

On the way to the gym on Monday, I was listening to Diane Rehm . One of her callers was Jeff, a postal worker who identified himself as "just a guy". He suggested that the census be taken by the people who know the neighborhood best - the mail carriers. He pointed out that they are federal employees who already walk the beat. One of the panelists commented, "from your lips to God's ear" and hoped that someone from the White House was listening to the show.

I had a West Wing moment, imagining Ginger? an intern? sitting in the bullpen outside Sam and Toby's offices listening to Diane's show. Not a picture I could have conjured up a year ago. But somehow it seems possible that in this administration such a thing was heard and noticed and commented upon.

It's nice to feel included, to be talked to as if I might really understand the issues and could actually hold a nuanced thought in my head. When the President or his minions are interviewed, I don't have that awful sinking feeling in my stomach, worrying about how embarrassing their answers are going to be. I find that I can learn something if I pay attention. And better than that, I have the sense that they are listening to us, too.

I really wanted to give President Bush the benefit of the doubt after 9/11. I really did. But he lost me when his call to the country was "Go Shopping". C'mon. For the first time in a long time we were Americans as a whole, not separate states or religions or races or parties. Just Americans. And we loved America in a way we hadn't felt in a long long long long time. Ask us anything when we're in a mood like that; we'll do it. Ask for a sacrifice, issue a call to public service - just tell us where and when to show up. But don't send us to the mall.

In contrast, the first major piece of legislation sent to President Obama's desk was the Senator Edward M Kennedy Serve America Act. For $5.7billion over 5 years more Americans than ever will have the opportunity to work for little or no salary in dangerous or depressing neighborhoods doing work that needs to be done. Whether to feel a sense of accomplishment, extend a helping hand, put retirement's free time to good use or to pad a resume before graduate school there will be no shortage of Americans anxious to participate. We've just been looking for a little encouragement.

It's nice to feel that someone is listening.

(That afternoon, a census taker came to our front door. How weird is that?)


"Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country"