Aimea Brokedown Angel

9/11, 16 years later

part of: Poetry

by Carrie Radna

Yo, Slick,
the tragic event
earned its license to drive;
it’s speeding down every single bridge,
sailing on every ferry,
while most jerks wear funeral clothes to work

The smoke is invisible; the fires still burn inside
the yards are dug up, lined with electric wire

As they read the names of the lost
Downtown at the holy memorial,
she tries not to feel dead,
remembering how the audio of that day
played loudly in the museum
how it brought her to tears.

It’s inevitable;
patriots and non-patriots alike,
we will walk in our own ashes