The Rain

It rained in New York, today.

Though the sky was blue,

And the sun was high.

It rained in New York, today.

It rained in New York, today.

The kind of rain I’ve not seen,

The kind of rain not meant to be.

It rained in New York, anyway.

It rained in New York, today.

Though it was ugly and mean,

I could not turn away from looking up.

It rained in New York, how strange.

The clouds were churning in just one spot,

And the gray giants were weeping.

Then the clouds fell down,

And the rain wouldn’t stop,

The red rain with flames and leaping.

White dust, gray dust, metal steeping

High upon itself bits of flesh falling around me,

Sky darkening, cries coming from all directions

Turning my agony to horror, and my flight into

Paralyzed fear and panic, no more rain,

No more rain, I cried for it to stop.

This isn’t real, this isn’t me running for my life

Trying to comprehend this terrible,

Awful,

Rain.

All is dust covered now.

The rain has left a mark.

The memory is clinging.

Sobering and stark.

It rained in New York, today.

 ~d.lawrence

9/11/2001

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