The Fallen

The Fallen

A Poem by Jenna

In commemoration of the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. This poem is inspired by the photograph "The Fallen Man" by Richard Drew.


One last choice

One last decision to make

Death or death

“All I need is air.”


They haunt me at night when their

Ghosts separate from the constellations

And huddle together by the window

Still tinged with 85th floor smoke

And the ash from the flight seats


They descend upon my room like

A deep purple cloak saturated with over

Two thousand drops of our nation’s blood

That people know have yet to dry from

Our wounded eyes and punctured hearts


They whisper about the last frantic phone call

The words to their spouses, “I love you darling,

Tell the kids that I love them.”

Until the cell phone signals die and only

The love lines remain connected forever


They dream about the open air

About the crisp, vivacious wind blowing

Central Park leaves from the East to

Westside and birds sweeping free from

The terraces in the iridescent autumn sky


And they wonder about these windows of the world

That cut their breath from their dream,

Trapping them inside the burning nightmare

A thousand feet above the blanket of earth

Which was blasted away by the fire


They cry of death that loomed inevitably

And the heat " the blistering heat "

And the smoke and the flames and the falling beams

And finally the feeling launched at the pit stomachs

That they would be next


One ghost with a bright orange t-shirt

Talks about leaning against the blackened

Window frame with hundreds pressed

Against his back all longing for the taste

Of air as the screams surrender to rumbles


One last choice

One last decision to make

Death or death

“All I need is air.”


A ten-second wingless flight of horror

Tossing and turning before reaching zero

With turbulence blasting away

The button-downed shirt as if he is

 Shedding the last peaceful tear.


And the ghosts remember the clicking

Of a camera marking their desperate journey

Forever even after their minds separate

From the harshness of their bodies

And drift upward towards the stars.


“The Falling Man” and its two hundred unknown

Haunt me in my dreams, forcing

Me to remember the September horrifics

Even memorials want to forget what

Even the world refuses to see


One last chance

One last decision to make

Death or death

“All I need is air.”

Photograph by Richard Drew, 9/11/01

© 2011 Jenna

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Share This
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe





"It's a lost and lonely kind of feeling To wake up wearing a disguise I lie in bed staring at the ceiling I don't know who I am There's little that I can Fully recognize." -Louis Sachar, "Small .. more..