My son wakes up
And calls out to me.
His voice is a wave that
Passes through the wall
That separates us.
A hollow cavity.
And I say coming.
Touch my husband. His
Shoulder. Say going. And
He is rolling over. Asleep.
And away from me. And
I find my son sitting up.
Asking me about the planes.
Two planes. What
Happened to them
After. After
They hit the two towers.
And I say well. Use the
Words slam and pierce or skin.
How I tell him that the nose
Of a plane can slam
Into a tower. Pierce
Through. Through
The skin of it. And
I am saying then.
How then it all crashed down.
Or how three years ago
A piece of one of the planes
Was found. Found between
Two buildings. Twelve years
Later and stuck.
Twelve years my son says
Because that is how long he
Has been alive.
Laying back down. His eyes.
Heavy. Saying good.
How it is good it was found.
But my son is talking about planes.
How he is not thinking about people.
All the people. These human remains.
And he does not know.
Cannot imagine.
How so much of what
Was lost on 9/11 was
Never found. Or how
Almost half.
Half of the people who died
That day
Are still missing. Or how
almost all of the people who
Were found were found
In parts.
A tooth. A hip bone.
Ring finger. A set of
Arms. Knee cap or
How so much of what remains
Is genetic material. Pulverized
Bone.
This I tell myself.
My hand moving
Across the plane
Of my son’s forehead.
As if
My fingers are a wing.
How this is what the word remains means.
How all the people. The dead
And the missing and the parts.
How they are still there.
But how. Still there does not mean not gone.
