(after September 11th)
As Hard-Hats fill buckets with
clatter of steel, glass, concrete, and
thump of torsos, thighs, heads,
four-thousand, nine-hundred, and fifty-seven ghosts
slip through the scraps.
Following the rescuers, they
whisper in tunnels,
Their sighs echo through black mist,
settle onto lips
of empty paper coffee cups
lying in garbage bins not far
from new small fires in the World
The sky grows darker, and
the sound of scraping and digging continues.
Mary Harrison has a Master of Science degree
from University of Connecticut. Her poetry and prose have been published
in several journals including "Kansas Quarterly," "Midwest
Poetry Review," "Mediphors" and "Poetry Motel."
Her book, "Unforeseen," was published by KotaPress, March, 2001.
She is a retired psychiatric clinical nurse specialist and has four sons.