Post your responses to the 9/11 prompt you began Wednesday, June 28, 2006. Just leave a comment...
7 comments:
Anonymous
said...
"I am what the Americans call a terrorist. I'm going to kill myself and a whole bunch of people, and I'm at peace about that. I don't believe that virgins await me in heaven. I'm not doing this for myself. I'm doing this because it needs to be done. I'm pretty sure about that. Well...we now fly into the shadow of the target. Too late to back out now."
9/11 response. In the voice of a fireman who was not sent up the stairs to 'rescue' the 'survivors.'
I can't get that sound out of my ears: thud, thud, thud. What were they thinking just before they leapt? I'm a fireman. Why couldn't I have saved them?
The video news clip - a plane in slow motion puncturing that building. It was so out-of-scale Surreal. I kept thinking, "computer animation...like an old horror movie." The awful re-play. The newscaster's words sink in. This is for real, whatever it is. I must be strong.
In my classroom I am wondering what will happen next? My childhood war terrors, listening for bombers, ducking for cover - Will this nightmare play out here? I'll be in charge of hordes of bent, screaming children amid splintering, burning buildings - No, I am the calm one. The reports gets worse...
The shock deepens as more of us know. A good, quiet Pilipino man interupts class to take his son to safety. He explains apologetically. "Safety - where's that?" I wonder, and pull myself together to teach.
In the early evening people talk on downtown porches, folks who never said a word to each other. I've lived here a few months as a single woman and I know the alienated aloneness. Now it's like I'm back in Kansas, yet words are charged with fear and anger and questions.
Later, with determination, as in a dream - you are running and your body oozes in slow-mo - I do my laundry at the Coin Op. In the dark alley driveway I open the back car door a big bag of clothes shifts, falls with a thud; I scream at the dead body- and momentarily fall apart.
Like a dream The bits of news dribbling through Looking to each other for support Puzzling, anxiety Was it true? Did we do it to ourselves? Evil, from man, so bold
The blaring alarm pierces through my skull; I just can’t concentrate. This acquisition has been a struggle - We’re meeting with Johnson and Tate at one. Sandy says we should head towards the stairs just in case it’s real this time. Burned popcorn in the break room, I’m sure, probably up on the 15th floor. I’ll head down in a moment, once the path clears, But first let me type up this addendum.
The plane makes a sudden turn and heads for a building We know something is wrong There's screaming and yelling all around Do something! Nobody can do anything In terror We wait
In horror they watch That vision, over and over again The sudden turn of the plane Heading for the building The crash The smoke How could this happen?
"I heard on the radio that a plane flew into the World Trade's Center." My eleven year old daughter reported. I was reading the paper and responded,"Sounds like a movie." "No, Mom, it's real." "Well, was it a small plane?" My brain refused to accept the news. "No, it's a big passenger plane like we fly on." At this point my son turned on the TV and I sat slack jawed, cereal spoon in hand and watched the second plane fly into the tower. I stifled my response because I knew all eyes were on me. "We'll handle it." I summed up without conviction. I walked to school and was met by two fathers, one a minister, who asked me, "What will you teach in writing today, Ms. Marshall?" I felt completely unprepared to interpret this for my 6th graders. There is little in life that allows for preparation.
7 comments:
"I am what the Americans call a terrorist. I'm going to kill myself and a whole bunch of people, and I'm at peace about that.
I don't believe that virgins await me in heaven. I'm not doing this for myself. I'm doing this because it needs to be done. I'm pretty sure about that.
Well...we now fly into the shadow of the target. Too late to back out now."
Jonathan said . . .
9/11 response. In the voice of a fireman who was not sent up the stairs to 'rescue' the 'survivors.'
I can't get that sound out of my ears: thud, thud, thud. What were they thinking just before they leapt? I'm a fireman. Why couldn't I have saved them?
Morning, Noon and Night
The video news clip - a plane
in slow motion puncturing that building.
It was so out-of-scale
Surreal.
I kept thinking, "computer animation...like an old horror movie."
The awful re-play. The newscaster's words
sink in. This is for real, whatever it is.
I must be strong.
In my classroom I am wondering
what will happen next?
My childhood war terrors, listening
for bombers, ducking for cover -
Will this nightmare play out here?
I'll be in charge of hordes
of bent, screaming children
amid splintering, burning buildings -
No, I am the calm one.
The reports gets worse...
The shock deepens
as more of us know.
A good, quiet Pilipino man interupts class to take his son
to safety. He explains apologetically.
"Safety - where's that?" I wonder, and pull myself together to teach.
In the early evening
people talk on downtown porches,
folks who never said a word
to each other.
I've lived here a few months
as a single woman and I know
the alienated aloneness.
Now it's like I'm back in Kansas,
yet words are charged
with fear
and anger
and questions.
Later, with determination,
as in a dream - you are running
and your body oozes in slow-mo -
I do my laundry at the Coin Op.
In the dark alley driveway
I open the back car door
a big bag of clothes shifts,
falls with a thud;
I scream at the dead body-
and momentarily fall apart.
9/11
Like a dream
The bits of news dribbling through
Looking to each other for support
Puzzling, anxiety
Was it true?
Did we do it to ourselves?
Evil, from man, so bold
The blaring alarm pierces through my skull;
I just can’t concentrate.
This acquisition has been a struggle -
We’re meeting with Johnson and Tate at one.
Sandy says we should head towards the stairs
just in case it’s real this time.
Burned popcorn in the break room, I’m sure,
probably up on the 15th floor.
I’ll head down in a moment,
once the path clears,
But first let me type up this addendum.
The plane makes a sudden turn and heads for a building
We know something is wrong
There's screaming and yelling all around
Do something!
Nobody can do anything
In terror
We wait
In horror they watch
That vision, over and over again
The sudden turn of the plane
Heading for the building
The crash
The smoke
How could this happen?
"I heard on the radio that a plane flew into the World Trade's Center." My eleven year old daughter reported. I was reading the paper and responded,"Sounds like a movie."
"No, Mom, it's real."
"Well, was it a small plane?" My brain refused to accept the news.
"No, it's a big passenger plane like we fly on."
At this point my son turned on the TV and I sat slack jawed, cereal spoon in hand and watched the second plane fly into the tower. I stifled my response because I knew all eyes were on me. "We'll handle it." I summed up without conviction.
I walked to school and was met by two fathers, one a minister, who asked me, "What will you teach in writing today, Ms. Marshall?" I felt completely unprepared to interpret this for my 6th graders. There is little in life that allows for preparation.
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