What’s Left?


Image of crew seating areas area remains of Fire Truck destroyed during 9/11 tragedy


What’s left?

A memory of birthdays and parties,

Of weddings,

And family barbeques,

Of arguments over Thanksgiving,

And the hugs of reconciliation later.


Of first kisses,

Or the last one.

Of what was said,

And of that unsaid,

Those thoughts we hoped they knew.


Oh tangled sacramentals,

You pierce my heart,

With your stabbing reminders,

Lest I might forget to honor,

The memory of lives I knew, and those I didn’t but wanted to.


What are we left?



Stones and letters,

Old video clips and shoes. The shoes hurt the most.


Of how violence is not an answer,

Such a simple response,

For those with the power,

To show we are all powerful,

And willingness to wield it.


We are left with the connectedness.

Of how every human has a divine spark,

And that we do not have the right to extinguish them in anger.

But only to protect.

Because we are all bound by love.


And the source of that love. Which is God and the given grace we dispense to each other.

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