Personal Post: 9/11

Today is the 12th anniversary of 9/11. As I currently don’t have a personal blog, I am sharing a poem I wrote in the days after 9/11 about my experiences that day. I am not a poet. The poem was never meant to be published but this year as I searched my soul on how to mark the day, to mark my life where 12 years later, Grandfather Gandhi, the book I co-wrote with Arun Gandhi, grandson to the Mahatma is soon to come out, which would not be if the events of 9/11 didn’t happen, I felt called to share it so here it is…

(I apologize for formatting. I found the poem in my emails from 2001 and could not get the spacing corrected to share.)

 

tuesday morning in Manhattan

 

tuesday morning in Manhattan

late for work, hustle, hustle, get there quick

cross the bridge to 1 WFC

elevator to 31

clock in

coffee cup, yogurt, orange

workday begins

8:42

log on, answer phone

8:46am

explosion, shouts from corner office
debris cascades like ticker tape
this is no parade

throw open door to other side of floor

yell to co-workers who face Lady Liberty,

“a plane just hit World Trade.”

fire searcher duty: check bathrooms

last to leave

 

descend stairs on shaky legs, stop on

floor 21
told to resume normal activities

nothing but people in streets

let emergency personnel respond
ride elevator to floor 31
back at desk, call family in atlanta for fear

they are watching today

brother in line at dmv—no idea what is happening in NYC

off phone
like a magnet i am pulled to the window
vomit rises. a face I may have passed twenty
minutes earlier, 90 floors below, leaps from the
gutted building
no time for tears; our building shakes

another boom resounds
9:03 am

 

this time my exit is final

in stairwell i attempt prayer of protection

may the light of God surround us…
only to forget the words
no focus
my body prays instead

i count the floors in reverse

i reach the lobby
the sunlight blinding

people everywhere

nowhere to go

faces stare at the sky, aghast
i no longer look at the heavens for fear

again

i will see hell

i cross to the water with my boss, maureen

we eye the glass and mortar
we are surrounded
an army of skyscrapers, foot soldiers, abound
“we’re getting off this island,” she says
i nod, her premature baby, who survived all odds
waits for her at home

there is a ticket line for the ferry
“no need to pay,” i say
we are shepherded on the half full boat
i am safe on the water
this thought sinks into my skin
i glance over my shoulder to see the gaping wound in
building two
tears do not come
crying will solidify the terror
i may be safe but others are not
the busy Path is now a no man’s land
i hug maureen goodbye, “get home safe”

“you, too”

i board the train in Hoboken,  Jersey City bound

seconds later, the train stalls

complete stop

complete silence

there are six of us in the car

only six

someone says the Pentagon was hit

my friends at the UN…

 

the train stays still

no movement

none

what the hell is happening?
thirty minutes later up from underground
pillars of smoke darken the day
the man with the tan briefcase sighs, “the towers are gone”
liar,  i walked through them this morning
i stopped to buy an orange on my way to work, it’s there waiting for me
i board a dollar bus, headed home
the girls in the back chit-chat, schools out for the day

happy voices, scared voices, kid voices all

i am the only adult

key sticks in the lock
i make my way to the mirror
touch my reflection
proving i am still alive

deep breath and the tears come
my throat is ragged
i cannot breathe
i wrestle my linen blazer and wrap myself in flannel
my phone will not dial out
no one but maureen knows i am alive

maureen is the only survivor, i know

officemates disappeared; vanished with coffee and muffin

are they safe? are they alive?

i see my mother’s lips silently praying
i feel my father’s bear hug
i sense the prayers said in my name
but the shock won’t shed

so i watch, with the nation as reality is repeated

over and over and over…

the planes

the towers

the fall