Still Life

Sep 23, 2011 by Kristen    No Comments    Posted under: On Death, Poetry

Two lines on a stick

Families are told, joy fills for a small

Still Life

Hope breathes true

Then a flick of a wrist, a heartless picture and you’re gone

Still Life.

Frozen in black and white

In cruel brush strokes — this horror, this painting

My Still Life

Stone Sentries

Sep 11, 2011 by Kristen    No Comments    Posted under: On Death, Poetry

Reach to the sky
To the walls
The fortress of Five
Afire and frightened
Tumbled and twisted
By aerial masochists

Lives stolen
Flown to their end
On fast and furious wings
Bastions of bravery
Strength and struggle
A wish and a prayer
For you

Reach to the sky
To the walls
And rest in peace
As stone sentries
In a garden
Of our memories

A Reflection on 9/11

Sep 8, 2011 by Kristen    2 Comments    Posted under: Blog

Every generation has a “Where was I when it happened?” moment. Remembering is not so much a commemoration as a realization that innocence and safety are figments of our imagination, remnants of childhood naiveté. It is the moment our eyes are opened to our own vulnerability.

For my Grandfather, it was Pearl Harbor.  For my mother, it was JFK’s assassination. And for me, 9/11.

It’s also the moment we realize our ability to persevere, to bond together and forge a path of hope, strength, and change.

On September 11, 2001, I remember sitting at my desk when a co-worker burst into my office to say a plane had accidentally flown into a building in New York, and the sinking feeling moments later when the second plane hit and we realized it was no accident. I felt numb for days, disbelieving that anyone could harm another person intentionally. I felt betrayed by the evil in nature, by the callousness in the acts, and by the disregard of life.

But I also remember how friends banded together to soothe grief, how stories were relayed of volunteers aiding victims, of firefighters and policemen who worked tirelessly to rescue, sometimes at the expense of their own lives. And I remember standing outside, singing the national anthem, and having others add their voices in solidarity. In this, I felt hope and renewal.

As the 10th anniversary of 9/11 approaches, we mourn still. We honor those who were lost. We bond together and share again. We aid each other in continued grief and healing. And we remember.

It’s a time for full reflection on what we’ve learned. So I ask you not just to answer “Where were you?”, but to share your stories of hope. What strength do you remember most in this tragedy?

Pentagon 9/11 Memorial

Frère Jacques

Sep 6, 2011 by Kristen    No Comments    Posted under: On Death, On Humanity, On Life, Poetry

Late afternoon wanes across the chilling hillside
As church bells peal for another hour passed
Deep and resonating, high and hopeful
Delivering me to the ironic memory of a childhood song
Are you sleeping?
 
There are many who sleep here
Beneath an army of perfectly rowed stones
Under a frozen earth
And I walk among their markers
Wondering how little is revealed

In the front of the yard, reverence begets silence
As visitors in suits wear their grief cut fresh
Like the flowers and wreaths in their arms
The voices here are no more than murmurs
While the dead are still comforted by living memories

In the back, where shadows stretch long
Across the frost-bitten blades
And mossy fingers reach
To obscure what time has not crumbled
Quiet gives way to a crescendo of history

Dates and names are all that remain
For those who fail to listen
Yet a brush of flesh across cold stone
Brings understanding
Of a story that needs to be told

Here lies John Plourde, b. 1801 d. 1847
Then the writing dies silent
A man of wife and children, speak those buried alongside him
And a man, perhaps, with the grace to cherish
The gifts that lay before him in death as in life

Deeper into the shadows of the past, others beg for attention
A wife and husband who joined each other here, days apart
A child who lived short, but loved long
A woman delivered in her prime, kept company by her parents
Then questions slowly overcome stories and suppositions

Did they know true love?
Was he defined by his kindness, his friendship?
Did she achieve her dreams and goals?
Did they learn to accept life’s little twists in blissful happiness?
Were they missed?

Each voice, each question and answer bombards me as I pass
Knowing what the living often cannot, what the living often ignore
Our future is held in our past, our past in our future
And in both, there is only one question that will matter when we exist no more
What will our story tell?