Sometimes I still think about it, the dust.

I worry about what was in it, about how

It was filled with particles of insulation

And lead and chemicals and asbestos,

And how I breathed it in that day when

The Towers fell down, or how, even how,

When I went back, two weeks later, how

It was caked, there, on the ground, caked

On the bottom of my shoes, how I tracked

It home, through my apartment, finding it,

A light coat of dust, on my ankles, but then,

I remember what else was in that dust, how

It was made up of flesh and bone and teeth,

How there were fingernails in it and organs,

And how I am lucky, how I know that I am

Just so lucky to be alive, how I am still here,

How even though those two Towers fell,

All of those floors and stories, the people

And their stories inside, how it all fell down,

My story goes on.

Amalie Flynn is the author of another blog, Wife and War, which is based on her experience as a military wife and has been featured twice by the New York Times. She is currently working on her memoir. To see how Amalie Flynn’s story continues go to http://wifeandwar.wordpress.com/

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2 Responses to Dust

  1. Marcelo Longati Junior says:

    Amazing !

  2. beautiful. and true for so many of us.

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