My heart hurts for you.
For the swirling ashes
You call home. The burning
Embers, the paper smoke
You call your soul. Thunder—
It was like thunder. A thick cloud,
Dense enough to smother the sun.
Silence settles deep in my bones. I
Breathe you in, and you constrict
My throat. You looked like snow
On the streets below.
My eyes were wide, my beliefs were
Stolen. I watched you crash, dust
To dust, and so many hearts
Were broken. The taste of
Horrifying defeat sinks in, like
You do, bitter and reeking of
Concrete and steal. And I saw
You fall, I saw you fall. I saw you
Bend and break, I saw the end of it
All. It looked like a hot knife
Cutting through butter, but the knife
Was on fire you and you were
Determined not to be deterred
From the stairwell where you heard
Every shattered window screeching
Like titanium steal, beseeching you—
Listen to the warning, 93 flights away.
But you’re on fire, on my tongue.
A reminder of the two-thousand
seven-hundred and forty-eight things I
should’ve-could’ve done.
Yes, my heart hurts for you, my son.