11 September 2001 Poem by Ewa Lipska

Poets undercover agents pious tax-payers
songwriters jewelers
will all be announcing
reports of the crime.

At times even poems. At times even songs.

Jewelers will polish the facts meticulously.
Proper shape. Proper shine.
Catastrophe's precise costume jewelry.

Naturally
everyone will submit themselves to print.

And only my dress-maker
with whom I talk quietly
in satin stitches
says
the world has unraveled.

And the sewing machine
Laughs maliciously.