Tower 2, Floor 87 Poem by Laurence Overmire

Someone told them not to evacuate
Smoke and fire gushing from the wounds of
Tower 1

…

It was an accident after all, wasn’t it?
Not to worry, Mom.
I’m okay, Dad.

…

The phone, still attached to the wall
But the line so quickly dead
The world collapsing on itself

…

We let go of her forever
That last hope of innocence
Smothered in a ton of ash.


(Previously published in Some Words: A Place For Poetry, June 2003; Poetry.com, Sep 2003)