and I had a cell phone,
I'd have called my sister and brother
and told them I'd loved my life,
loved them, always would, and to
thank everyone for being so good to me and
to take no avenging actions,
nor support the avenging actions of others,
but to let me die with the dignity of my faith.
Then I'd step out into the air,
something opening beneath me,
the last fall of my life.
It's hard to say what I'd be feeling,
surprise, mystification, terror, glory,
but I'm sure I wouldn't be angry.
In the last moments
there's nothing to fix,
no protest against the speed of the fall.
I imagine I 'd be filled with
something beyond terror,
a feeling which is
(from where we stand)
intolerably bright.
I'd have called my sister and brother
and told them I'd loved my life,
loved them, always would, and to
thank everyone for being so good to me and
to take no avenging actions,
nor support the avenging actions of others,
but to let me die with the dignity of my faith.
Then I'd step out into the air,
something opening beneath me,
the last fall of my life.
It's hard to say what I'd be feeling,
surprise, mystification, terror, glory,
but I'm sure I wouldn't be angry.
In the last moments
there's nothing to fix,
no protest against the speed of the fall.
I imagine I 'd be filled with
something beyond terror,
a feeling which is
(from where we stand)
intolerably bright.
-- Susan Birkeland (1961-2006), San Franciscan poet, found at https://www.sfheart.com/birkeland/nine_eleven.html
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