Witness 9/11
September 11th, 2001. Stan left New York that morning on a solo road trip. He was passing through Washington DC when the Pentagon was hit. Thousands of miles across a country in shock gave him plenty of time to witness, reflect, and respond. This is that witness — in images and in poetry by Muriel Harris Weinstein.
that wizzed like flaming arrows
into the towering nests,
into screaming bodies
into their young sweet lives.
Thunderous torrents of smoke roiled
down like ashen waterfalls
spewing choking gases
spewing incendiary flowers.
I heard that bird
the bird blinded by the word, humanity
the bird deaf to Others' ways
the bird mute to the word love
the bird without heart so it cannot feel
but lives only to die
feasting on the lives of young birds
on those so young, time
had not yet crossed their brows.
Needing to devour the innocent,
your daughter, my daughter,
your son, my son,
our sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers,
dear friends, neighbors, familiar hearts and faces,
those who loved life, those who created life,
those who carried life.
Screams, rising and falling like waves
pulsed through small fragile bodies
as nests exploded into steel infernos
collapsing upon themselves
sealing flaming caves and burning ghats.
The pterosaur, a martyr's sacrifice
for the Great Bird God,
knew its life in Nirvana would be blessed.
Were not one hundred virgin birds waiting?
—Muriel Harris Weinstein