Walking in Memory of 9/11

Before my front steps
I ease my way into a cold front
I taste the river
after it has been stirred
I flinch at a soaked flag flapping
a wet towel in the wind.

Before this fall is over
a single white tulip sways
a crowd of young daisies
mingle in the breeze

I hear a dull hammer of iron
thunder passing
I go with a slick groove
of the ground under my boots.
The dry leaves shiver as I pass

In front of my neighbor’s house
is a group of scarecrows
in hay-woven suits with heads
frozen in half-nods
and with thin smiles stitched on
strangers in the fields.

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