It looks like it's going to be another clear sunny day Tuesday. This I believe is the second time since that the anniversary of the attacks takes place on the same day of the week that the attacks actually took place, a Tuesday.
That day, New Yorkers were getting ready to vote in the primary elections, the most significant one being the Democratic Party primary race for New York City Mayor. (Mike Bloomberg was running relatively unchallenged on the Republican side.)
There really wasn't a cloud in the sky.
Then smoke. Collapse. And dust.
Hospital workers uptown, waiting for victims that never arrived.
The bridges and tunnels locked down. Everybody walking, or running, north.
the smoke that lingered in the sky and in the lungs. And the heart.
A Thích Nhất Hạnh poem from the Vietnam War.
Auden's poem announcing the beginning of World War II.
The next day, in class: looking at my students, saying nothing for ten minutes before asking if they have anything to say. Because of religious holidays I will not see them for about ten days.
The signs on every lamp post, with pictures.
The heaviest empty space in the world.
Stupid Bloody Tuesday.
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