From TV

Over & over
a man on the street,
his back to the lens,
is turning to follow
the plane into the tower.

"Holy shit!" he cries
as the camera’s lurch
cuts to the other plane
slicing like a knife
through butter in summer,

a voice offscreen keening
"O my god!" smoke swallowing
flames, & who will be found
seven stories down
once fall turns winter?

American boys bomb Kabul,
Baghdad, wherever Caesar says
the terror dwells.
The nightmare tramples glass
in all the world’s rooms.

Will grief so great go away
& revenge taunt the assassin
to return? When will this sorrow
go round & end, & then
will the earth be salt or sand?

(11 September 2001)

                                                               –Floyce Alexander, 2001,
                                                                 from The Ice House (2006)

copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander