this shirt with blood
 on the cuffs
 the sun
 just because it’s there
 just because it sounds like
 the voice of god when i close my eyes
 sounds like snow falling into
 the open hands of the blind
 and so, we’re standing at the edge of
 the forest when the first
 plane is spotted
 i’m trying to remember my
 father’s face
 when the north tower falls
 am sitting in a shadowed room
 in someone else’s house
 and the windows streaked with dust
 the television filled with static
 and i remember her telling me her name
 but can’t think of what it is
 i understand the need for silence
 can drown just as well as 
 the next man
February by John Sweet
 
							 
						 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			 
			