I don't know how to write about the tenth anniversary of 9/11. All we ever have of the dead are our memories and what we do with them; and these dead were so swiftly turned to propaganda, it seemed impossible to grieve them without becoming part of the national myth that hung out flags everywhere and wanted to see itself as the second coming of World War II. The trauma became a photo-op. It honored neither the living or the dead. And I don't want to see them lost to Iraq, Afghanistan, the TSA; they deserved to be mourned for themselves, not because they were wounded America. I can't light candles for them. None of them were my dead: I have no part in that grief. Ten years ago I sang "Amazing Grace" in a classroom. All I think I can do now is say their memory for a blessing, because once they were alive; and our memories, that we might use them better from now on.
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- 1: That fine girl of mine's on the Georgia Line
- 2: In those days, I still believed in the future
- 3: And even if I can't read it right, everything's a message
- 4: I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
- 5: I don't like people to get the idea that I have to do this for a living
- 6: We only want the world to know that we support the status quo
- 7: How she'll greet me when she meets me when my ship gets in to port
- 8: Nothing very important
- 9: We rented a glass-bottom boat, we got farther from shore
- 10: Or the ocean's brine will turn to wine
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