Monday, September 11, 2006

Spirits, Furious

"Rogue angels chiffon my nights, twelve arms flailing,
Those long whispers of limbs that curl a pale blood around my throat.
They are maddened by my breath, as constant as God’s bare foot.

I saw their burning flesh drop and felt the slow vibration of death,
A hum-drone known to the ages.
Jet fuel streamed under the lime-stripe of a firecoat, poof!
Then I ate them, I swallowed their stardust exploding on glass,
One hundred freight trains crashing.

Come tonight, I’ll cream your skin and feed you cowfoot and beans.
There will be a love song, then you could find my keys and my checkbook and maybe
In my room everything would feel new, like a red birth or a
Muscled and panting fish gill, or just green grass that serves as a bed
For dragonflies.

If not, we'll talk about it when I get there."

By Karen D. Rickenbach

The above words are not my own, but then again, today is not for me. Today is not the day for waxing trivial, for assuming life is no bigger than what I might contain, to huff over work, burnt coffee, sloth-like commutes, relationships, an infuriating family still here.

But too, it’s not a day solely of ash and dust, twisted metal and anguish, hollow thoughts and partial dreams.

Today is a day for remembrance, for love, for change, for hope, for us.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

So sad for us 5 years later.

mamak said...

Thanks for another great post!
It is still heartbreaking!