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This was written in September 2002, in NYC,
when there was a sense of waiting for the next catastrophe.
But nothing happened, not even the leaves fell that month.
There’s a little homage to Philippe Petit, who walked a wire between the twin towers.
September, 2002, NYC
What Memory Leaves
They quiver in the breeze
and cling, and try to stall—
this year the city leaves
do not want to fall.
They cannot join the rest,
the ones who fell last year—
all trace of them is swept.
The hard concrete lies clear.
Like walkers on a wire,
they shiver in the wind—
where are the cloaks of fire
we look to see them in?
Can the green leaves recall
what passed before their birth?
Don’t they know all must fall?
The sole rest lies in earth.
