Originally published on September 11, 2015 on the now-defunct Best American Poetry blog. Republished in The Trouble Clef.
September 11th
Can you breathe this air,
this thickening air?
The ashes of people are in our nostrils.
Can you hear this silence?
this screaming silence?
The ashes of people are in our throats.
Can you see this city,
through the cloud of dust:
primordial particles,
hieroglyphs of destruction?
The ashes of people are in our eyes.
No bodies were found.
The hospitals remained empty
with doctors and nurses
waiting for patients.
No bodies.
The ashes of people are in our blood.
This silent cry has no answer.
The ashes of people are in our guts.
We will never be the same.
The dead grow their roots in our hearts.
– by Lera Auerbach
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