As I stand here and gaze
upon rebirth, I am transported 8 years.
I hear the screams of agony and confusion
until they fill my ears and make my head throb.
Ash falling upon my skin, filling nostrils,
re-coloring pigment shade upon shade grayer.
Brother running for brother, confused
passengers on the subways below mystified
as to why their trains have jolted and stopped.
Panic, sheer panic, and pain surging through our arteries.
And then the bodies begin to fall.
Curiosity leads to relief and gratitude for
inconveniences in monotonous routines and guilty graces.
Parched lips thirsting to be free of the tastes of dust and blood.
Eight years later ... eight scar-laden years later.
Never a day has there not been victory here,
here at Ground Zero.
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