A chasm reversed;

I heard about the
Twin Towers from
Brandon, at the bus
stop, unusually
sunny day, before

It was
his words, lofty
voice, posture
suggestive, and not
the monotone,
journalists that
burned the numbers
nine and eleven
into my brain

On the
bus, silence from
rowdy, sleep ridden
just the radio,

not a
single horn honking
in the mid morning rush,

and the sun, blinding,
around every corner.

At school we all
walk around in daze,
hypnotic silence that
I will never again understand.

No class work, though
class rooms fill with news
updates on televisions
propped on the walls.

I watched the towers fall
during the first half
of science class, sophomore year.