by Cindy Comrack
Smoke and flames split open our ribs
of steel after the forced penetrations
of twin Arab rebels shattered
our skins of glass.
Seventy stories told of our blood
walking down seventy flights
of stairs while fuel poured down
our steel-pillared core. Afterward,
reports said we could've taken the impact.
Jet fuel caught fire and burned the sisters from within.
Steel was meant to bend but not to burn.
And on the television screen, two towers
spouted smoke from a carbuncle
at 9 a.m. and each of us burst into tears
because our patriotism burned in New York.
~
Copyright © 2007 - Cindy Comrack
Published: 6/7/07 · Author's Page · Next Poem