at the end of August,
I try to remember
what life was like
in those weeks
before
that September 11.
I search newspaper archives
for what was happening,
listen to the music
of the day,
I reconstruct
my own recollection,
trying to understand
where we were,
where I was,
to somehow
quantify,
to measure
the effect,
from then
to now.
Every year,
I try but
ultimately decide
it’s pointless,
because no matter
how much my mind
can understand
such historical
artifacts,
my heart,
my soul
only knows the horror,
the division
of life
into segments of
“before 9/11”and
“after 9/11”.
The bumper sticker says
“Never Forget,”
as if I had
a choice in the matter.
