When death comes out of a clear blue sky
Despair might be forgivable:
The  peaceful calm of a September morn
Reduced to darkness visible.

The sky was filled with smoke and ash.
Nobody’s cell phones worked.
Two scared sisters were on their own
To escape out of ground zero.

Their  first thought was to walk the  bridge
To get themselves from there.
They both worked close to the trade center
And it was hard to breathe the air.


By some work of fate or Providence
They chanced to find a bus
It took them from the cauldrons’ edge
And brought them back to us.

Eighteen years now to the day
Since two thousand people were turned to dust
Memories linger in strange ways:
My wife still won’t board a city bus.