It has been twenty years since 9/11. I was—for just another month—nineteen then. More than half my life has been lived in the shadow, not of that grief, but of the war that battened on it, and I cannot see a way out from under it even now. The war can vote now. Could last year. The dead cast shorter shadows than the myth they were made to feed. And so like everything else in this country, they haunt us and it is not my place to mourn them, except that as part of the community of a nation I should have been asked to, and what I was asked was to wave the flag for a nationalistic fantasy instead. I lost no one to the towers, but I am losing someone to the war, and I do not want to see what happens when it is my family's candles against the next war's photo op.
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- 1: There's no boat to take me where all the stars go to cross the water
- 2: Once you know it's a dream, it can't hurt
- 3: All the ghosts, some old, some new
- 4: The wind is blowing the planes around
- 5: Let the lights run like rivers all over my skin
- 6: I am bound to these shores, I'll be bound till the end
- 7: Wish everyone could hear when she sings
- 8: I cannot feel it, the veil of black, a fine spray of white paint
- 9: I make sure there are hidden messages in my work
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