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Aug 2014
The bustle,
The bristle,
Many jeans, blue sky

The Taxis,
Yellow seams
Knitting
The city inside

A memory,
A vision,
Of a faraway land

Here now,
Feeling strongly
As death in a hand

A corner
Of horror
Cries from the tomb

I heard
Her say
Babies died in wombs

Chaos, heroes
Intimate revulsion
Try
Try again
No anger, but sinking emotion

The demons
All saints
Battled till the death

This place
Hallowed yard
Did we meet the test?

No laughter
no matter
We're still seeking the lost

Their faces
Etched smiles
Remain hanging on the cross

The weight
Our burden?
Who’s allowed to carry it now?

Closed eyes
Tears sting
I approach the grave
And
bow.
I travelled to NYC 10 years after September 11 terrorists attack on my homeland.  I felt the graves, I felt the wounds, I felt a sacred place of anguish.  I had to write.
484
   CJ Sutherland
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