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The Sun Shines Bleak In Flesh Canyons

Updated on September 28, 2009
This pin created by me was given out at Ground Zero by the clergy division assigned to comfort rescuers coming out of the pit.
This pin created by me was given out at Ground Zero by the clergy division assigned to comfort rescuers coming out of the pit.
Lady Liberty weeps
Lady Liberty weeps

The Sun Shines Bleakly In Flesh Canyons.

The sun shines bleakly today
in flesh canyons.

The only sounds
from it's depth
are the clack
of plastic buckets
accompanied by
the gasps of men uncovering the sticky residue of
perhaps Cori's husband
who in his last call said,

" Cori, I think a bomb just hit here,
I'm having trouble breathing,
I don't think we're......
going to make it out of here.
I just wanted you to know I love you."

Heavy machinery lifts a
large section of debris,
uncovering a group of mangled
corpses in protective gear.

Gear that was only good
up to so many hundreds of
pounds of pressure
per square inch.

Thus one large stain remains
marking the efforts of each
heroic firefighters
last stand .

The harbour winds ~w h i s t l e ~
in the nooks and crannies,
a haunting sound
like the howling of an
air raid siren
issuing loudly but
much too late.

The breeze's journey
disturbs the paper thin
remains and carries
the stench of yesterday
to the huddled masses
yearning to breathe free
for just an hour or so.

I sat with a Fire Dept. chaplain
Monday night
who had been in the rubble
of flesh canyon
for five days administering
to the shocked and disillusioned
He came to my poetry reading
after I had invited him
to attend and
he brought a piece of
the World Trade Center
given to him as he left
New York City.

A chunk of concrete
smoke tinted and smelling
of fire and fear
I touched it and .....

expected something more
then its roughened texture,
but then I realized it
was just remains
it is all just remains
The sun shines bleakly in flesh canyons
but no warmth is felt,
no light can brighten
for there peace has fallen to pieces.

I touched a remnant of that peace
broken and jagged
and later cried
for what it took with it
in it's tumbles.

History will remember
the facts,
the reactions
the politics
the lack of retaliation
against Osama Bin Laden
and the resulting aftershocks.

But I will remember most
the people, the faces
and the voices,
not yet
on cell phones.

They echo through my memories
as from an elevator
an anguished lady cries,

"We're all dying in here."

Another a distressed man hollers,

"Tell us how to survive
till you reach us....

and Cori's husband
composing a farewell
that could move
even the stone faces
on Easter Island to weep.

Just past flesh canyons
the scent of the
hot dog carts
the sauerkraut, and the onions
mingle with the odorous
wafts of death
and burning rubber
rising from the pit.

People pass by,

stomachs churning,

never noting

the haunting similarity.

It's just meat,
ketchup and pulp
foot-longs and kosher
freshly boiled,
grilled or roasted,
and skewered with
red flesh dripping.
Wrapped in dough
and peddled to the masses
it's all just meat.

Life goes on

as they bring out the dead

recoveries continue

long past the time of sunset

in the vaporous lights

that hang over flesh canyon

reflecting wispy clouds like

the first breaths of a

long winter exhaled.

©October 2001-MFB III-Art-Whimsically Yours Studio


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