In remembrance of all those caught up in 9/11. Those who were there, those who tried to save others, those at home, those watching. This is a poem I wrote in 2021. It's inspired by the photograph we've all seen of the man falling. A picture that strikes everyone dumb because there are no words.
Feathers
Feathers turn on the air,
burrow in the upflift
fluttering, these precious things,
the barest feel of touch
spinning. A white glow.
Breezes take them skyward
as if to connect with the stars,
breathe as high as the moon.
Scant traces of being
blown away and now lost.
Not feathers but people
falling.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 11, 2021
So beautiful 🤍
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