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| Jo-Ann Iannotti, OP, reciting September 11th remembrance poem |
REMEMBERING
In the city Walt Whitman called,
“City of hurried and sparkling waters!
City of spires and masts!
City nestled in bays! My city!”
They were born twins,
And unexpectedly died together.
Untimely many would say.
On that land, one of the first original 13,
called “Keystone” even until this day,
A field made to be ploughed
Had the unfulfilled hopes
of 58 souls
Planted in its soil.
Then, there was the place
Defined and designed by geometry;
A place whose angles held
Secrets supposedly
secure.
Secure was that day
In September,
Sun-filled, mild-mannered
In its dawning.
Before mid-morning
Day became nightmare,
Chaos reigned supreme
And dust was a veil
That hung over the face of the City.
That day, more than names
were listed as lost.
That day, futures were frozen in time.
Nothing could move forward.
That day belief was a sign,
Hung around our necks
With the simple message –
“For Sale.”
Bent steel bent lives
Into new shapes.
We were placed into a furnace
Of transformation.
We were too surprised to make
a rational decision.
We were never given the chance to choose.
Ten years on, though,
we can choose.
We cannot change the past,
But we must change
the present.
We can choose not to be among
The living dead.
We can choose not to run away
From pain.
We can choose to sit down with it
For afternoon tea
To share the stories that make us who we are.
When they are given away.
Friends, let us walk through
The remainder of the
Days given to us,
Not side-stepping pain or
Underestimating the
The presence of joy.
What we know, can’t be taken from us –
We now know more deeply than ever,
That
All the world – all of life
Is kindling for revelation.
Friends, stack it high,
Build it well,
And let us start a new fire
For clarity, for gratitude,
For life!
Jo-Ann Iannotti, OP
September 11, 2011
