caving-in-upon-story
collapsings of all hope,
but rather this footage is what
we must run and rerun
to believe we can live on. Notice—this time,
your eyes closed, your heartbeat
stilled—how those there witnessing
the one-by-one acceleration of the towers’ top floors
buckling, all threw their arms up
in New York unison. Against the looming black
weight, imagine, feel, how they strained
to lock into place with their power-
lifting lumbar–with their knees,
shoulders, elbows, fingers, toes,
sinew and soul—the tonnage
they knew they could hold aloft
like the song’s superhuman coal miner hero,
Big Bad John, hoisting a timber
while trapped men scrambled
from their would-be graves. Mere geologic
disaster of earth and rock,
it's true, is a far far cry
from thick concrete, steel girder, plate glass
falling from love and hate
forces locking horns so high above
not even the most faithful incarnate should hope
to hold back the heavy downpour of hearts
stopping cold. But they did. Watch closely
this time-lapse frame-
by-frame replay
pulsing so, so slow, and you, too, will
believe how they held, for the most truthful
infinitesimal moment, the whole
world's molecular make-up
of evil at bay—how they held, and they held.
From Wolf Tracks on the Welcome Mat
(OreanaBooks, 2003)
© Paul Zarzyski. All rights reserved. These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Painting by Larry Pirnie
