Rewind Poem by Deborah DeNicola

Rewind

The walls of the two towers pick up their plaster and dust sucks upwards into blue. Those who jumped— don't—but blow softly up through open windows to sit at their desks intact. Two hundred firemen moonwalk back to their trucks, hang hoses up like warriors' swords as the running pedestrians stop, spin on their heels and stroll back through park and plaza shops. The melted church rights its ribs, pulls the roof back on like a hat, while fallen spires resurrect from blueprints. Both aircraft tanks siphon back flames of gas. Glass mosaic uncoils from debris, folds into steel archways. Two planes resume their flight to Los Angeles... and Los Angeles... as white exhaust feathers through morning, early and clear. Three thousand busy people loved by others, still right here. Gorgeous, that Indian-summer sky.