Listen To Me
I died on 9/11.
by Richard George
I was outside - a miracle! -
floating, not flying,
in the plume of smoke you could see from space
with the molecules of my body.
I watched the world watch the news.
We exist in more dimensions than you.
You're like the Internet -
we can pop in, and dropp out of you.
We're lightning-quick! Your thoughts
are clear as water as we hang
at your conch-lobes like hummingbirds.
But we can't get through to you.
I saw you grieve. It was terrible.
I clung to you, to reassure
and you didn't feel me.
I watched you try and cut your wrists
and couldn't make the blood clot.
You are all like fish in an ocean
we can scuba in - I can only look.
My sad, beautiful grouper.
I'm deaf-mute, a Milky Way
scattered across the universe.
I know all, can do nothing.
It's the ultimate apartheid.
Your Death denies us;
an underclass, gazing down on you,
little regarded as oxygen.
We are the twice bereaved.