my father was on the 106th floor.
i overhear her on the bus and when
she gets off two stops later i follow
at the florist: my fiance was a firefighter
responding to the first call
at the fishmonger: my twin sister was
on the pentagon flight
the patisserie hears about her husband
the vegetable stand her mother
she moves through the city gathering
sympathy to [carry home with her]
to wrap tightly around another night
sitting alone with her dinner in front
of the television news.
fragment: 10:09:28 AM:
link
she scoffs at the cigarette metaphor, saying it was nothing like a fastburning cigarette, buildings collapse on themselves, don't burnup. but i know she is wrong.
fragment: 10:06:21 AM:
link
in the long run, it is the smell that finally makes it real
fragment: 10:05:20 AM:
link
