People for Peace and Justice
of Utah
People for Peace and Justice of Utah
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a grassroots organization advocating nonviolence and justice |
| HOME Texts of rally/event speeches |
Eileen Olsen, September 11, 2003at the People for Peace and Justice of Utah and Utah Code Pink September 11th Memorial: "Remembering the Victims of September 11 ~ At Home and Abroad" Poetry After 9/11: An Anthology of New York Poets Edited by Dennis Loy Johnson and Valerie Merians, Published by Melville House, NY 2002. The first is by D. Nurkse: "October Marriage" 1. We dial a recording and order Vitamin K, Cipro, twin masks. Shunted between prompts, we stare at each other with deep longing, drumming our fingers while the line grows faint. We borrow a Glock and wrap it in a Chamois cloth and lock the bullets in a separate drawer - where to hang the key? We stockpile Poland Spring under our bed and feel that bulk nullify the give when we make love. 2. Huddled before the news, we touch the screen - our bombs rain on Kandahar - we can't feel them: just a thrum, the pulse, a film of dust, a red glow shining through our nails. 3. We saw it and can't stop watching: as if the plane entered the eye and it was the mind that began burning with such a stubborn flame. We saw the bodies jump and couldn't break theri fall - now they wait so gracefully in midair, holding hands. The second is by Tim Suermondt: "Missing Supper" Don;t grieve too long over the ones who will never be with us for another meal. Rest assured that wherever they are they are cooking a simple and nourishing meal and parading now and then in wide aprons embossed with the words IF THE POT BOILS, FRIENDSHIP LIVES. They've saved us a place at their table and are relishing the chance when they can escort us into the kitchen and fill us in on all the mysteries, answers flowing from their lips sweetly as fine wine. Blow out the candles and turn on the stove - how beautiful we were, how beautiful we are. The next two are my own - Eileen McCabe-Olsen "Winds From the East" I am sitting on the front porch watching the reflections of the sunset tinge the Wasatch Front with flame. The air traffic is from the southeast, and I watch the twinkling pattern, like fireflies through wine. There are wildfires in the canyons: I can almost smell the sweet wood smoke. Nearly two years ago, I sat on this same porch, but I did not ponder the sunset. I watched the empty sky braced for the impact of a whisper, drunken with the silence. I waited for the smoke cloud to appear over the canyons, and held my breath, fearing its wretched scent. "Breaking the Silence" The grounded aircraft left a deafening silence. For three days, the only sound was the sighing of the chicory and the sunflowers as we waited to exhale. And on the third day, the sky was rent by a single olive drab cargo plane lumbering resolutely north to the Air Force base. I filled the bunker under the porch with bottled water and batteries and other futile things, and keened for innocence lost. I wrapped myself in a red, white and blue shroud and gathered my children to me waiting for death. Back to texts of speeches
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