Rhubarb. Strawberries./
Pinch of sugar. Small pot. Heat./
Summer’s ending treat.
OR
After I flipped the spoon out of the pot onto my hand…
Summer’s final burn.
I did not see them
When I shot the video
Of thousands of flags
In a Utah field,
Each representing
a lost 9/11 victim.
But when I was editing,
They were there.
Ghosts.
Shadows dancing in and out
Of the flags.
Wives.
Fathers.
Sons.
Daughters.
Husbands.
Mothers.
First responders.
People.
Laughing.
Crying.
Holding.
Walking.
Talking.
Those who were remembering
Became they who must
be remembered.
We must be ghosts
To each other,
To haunt ourselves
into remembering,
so we never forget.
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ZWz2qyvelI]