Nancy L. Meek


Among the bustling Manhattan streets
A crane stands, silhouetted against the sky
Hovering hauntingly above the somber scene
Its quiet power, like soot… still stinging the eye

New Yorkers will never be the same again
Despite grandiose and pretentious displays
For dedicated police officers and firemen,
Not movie stars, are the celebrities these days

Fresh bouquets of flowers grace the fence
Placed there by persistent, caring hands
Offering their heartfelt token of remembrance
Its quiet power only the grieving understands

Along the busy street, a memorial to fallen heroes
Still brings a tear to even the strongest of men
Putting on stoic faces, they turn from the photos
Its quiet power, like grapnels… still holding them

Among four-star restaurants and fashion shows
A new era comes… of things real, versus the fake
Cool fashions discarded in favor of old clothes
Resurrecting what matters in the terrorists’ wake

A new epicenter has replaced the old
As eyes turn toward that gash in the sky
Tearing hearts once upon a time grown cold
Who know now, some things money can’t buy

The fires in the pit seem to have stopped burning
The city, each day, looking less-ravaged than before
When the world for many stopped turning
When priorities became not so important anymore

Suspended in baskets overlooking the site
Workers gaze somberly down from the sky
Reciting prayers for those lost to the fight
The need to cry mingling with a loving goodbye

Among the workers digging in the heart of it
Bodies still emerge, draped in red, white and blue
Escorted away… finally free of the towering pit
Their quiet power, like dust… still clinging to you.

While the search continues for one, Osama bin Laden
His image forever looms, from every angle and view
Reminding us of a day which will never be forgotten
Its quiet power, like missing faces… still haunting you.