09.11.01

Lyrics
My father was on a business trip in New York City when the news of September 11th spilt across the country like knocked wine. My mother took a shovel to her chest and buried her heart in her sleeve. There were thirty-two messages on our answering machine. When I got off the school bus, it was as if her hug did not fit. Her shoulders: snapped hinges. We sat in front of the television screen, TV dinners gone cold in our laps. My mother paced on the phone in the kitchen. "No, we haven't gotten a hold of him yet." I watched her put the milk in the cupboard and silverware in the freezer. It was the day we changed our passwords, the garage code, every lock to his birthday. I sprayed his cologne on my wrists and hid his undershirts under my bed. When he finally came home safe, I was surprised he was not wearing a suit jacket of ashes. I do not ask him about what he saw. This story is a burst blood vessel. This story is never told at family picnics. It has no punch line. When my father does speak, this story is the only one my mother hushes for. She lets him tell it. She lets him pull the teeth.
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Credits
- Writers
- Blythe Baird