Each year, it begins with a name

All that survives of you,

And the 2,976 names that follow

All that remains of them.

 

The crowd stands and listens

Some clutching photos

Of what once was and is no more;

Now only on paper.

Standing on sacred ground

With water rushing down

Like the tears

For the departed never found.

 

You stand on the perimeter

Silently remembering back

To that horrible dusty, death filled day.

In your town,

And in towns across the nation,

Memorials have a piece

Of metal, twisted and sheared.

 

A woman born on that day

Feels life move inside of her.

She hears the names,

Her father’s spoken

Brings tears to her eyes.

 

The image and smell of smoke

Invades my mind.

Can it be 2 decades since

The time when the Towers fell?

How did we all survive?