| When
the Towers Fell |
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| The
World Trade Center crumbles…… …..and I build a fence, erecting four rails of cedar to corral my horses. My shovel packs Sackrete disturbing grandaddies galore, legs pulsating, pumping to free themselves from a grave of plaster, dirt and rocks. Sweat drips into my mouth, my body weeps. Rescue workers peel back layers of skyscrapers……. …..and I rake the barnyard, pounding at the hardened soil, loosening it clod by clod. Strong, toned muscles fight with Mother Earth spreading her into some organized manner she might later recognize as "natural." My tines excavate – reaching, pulling, leveling the site where in just a few days I’ll plant winter rye. |
The
casualties are boundless…… ……and I sweep the stable. Sprigs of brittle hay, morsels of oats, barley, corn brushed outside for free-range grazing. Leathers to oil saddles, bridles and reins dangle in mid-air, holding their place in space resting in sequence – in peace. Scout and Mr. Finch look on willful eyes, dark and reflective, mouths salivating in simple praise of a carrot. President Bush addresses
the nation…… |
……
and I bathe the dog, loving the comfort of his red fur shedding, sloughing off like dead skin clogging the shower drain. Naked, I crouch above him brushing dirt, sand, and burrs. I leave him licking lavender Castile. Then, I turn to wash myself— steam chafed shoulders, granny’s dirt beads at my neck, bits of bark prick my scalp, darkened cuticles – badges of today’s work. Firefighters, policemen, secretaries, janitors and executives lie together…… ……and I fight insomnia tangled in my bed clothes, missing the man whose weight is expected to press against this same mattress. He is a pilot – a target – a decoy. I am his wife alone, fatigued, able to do nothing except move through this liquid terror and find solace in the routine of daily life.
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©September 17, 2001 Lynda Wilson Jones |
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