Amazement

There's a nice feel to publication. There's even a nicer feel when someone seeks you out to publish your work. Not only do they remember you, they remember your work.

This happened to me today. I snuck a peek at email from work and found an email from a board that I used to frequent several years ago. They are preparing their next ezine edition and he wanted to know if he could use one of my poems. Since that poem has already been published online, I suggested that he note that fact when he used it. Needless to say, I was very flattered.

I mentioned this to a guy I work with also. He said, "Oh, I remember that one!" Once again, I was amazed and flattered. Not too many people at work know about my poetry. Or, they know about it but have never experienced it. So, yes, I was quite surprised when Dan remembered the poem. That is pretty cool.

Of course, I couldn't pass up the opportunity either. I happened to mention that I wrote for the 4th anniversary of 9/11. I've been published in both the 2nd and 3rd anniversary editions of The Book of Remembrance. A couple of months back, I decided to write something in case they did the 4th anniversary edition. It seems there may not be such an issue this time.

Just for the hell of it, here are both poems...

---

I Survived September

1/21/02

I survived September--
just barely.

Ground zero had been a force
to be reckoned with.
It was not just my job to be there--
I needed to be there.
The pull to help, and hope,
were so strong--
we, all of us, plodded on
much like weary soldiers at war.

Now that the scars have faded,
unnoticeably,
I, myself, have paid high prices.
The memories of this time will fade.
The heartbreak will heal.
I may not.
My lungs absorbed the toxins
of that hell quite readily.
Now, I labor to breathe.

I don't necessarily blame NYC
nor do I belittle the terrorists--
at least, not much--

I'm thankful to have survived.

---

Pick Up the Pieces

4/18/05

Pick up the pieces still
after four years, of my life
and his. The economy
mimics my sorrow
with gas price fluctuation
akin to the apex of my
irrationality.

The war is not part
of the world I am living.
That September affected
us all; the war, only a subset.
The perpetrators still
haunt my endless days
and ruffle my intolerable nights.

I can’t see my normal
returning to my existence.
Half of me died that day;
the other suffers miserably.
I go on the best I can
and hope to see you again.