Under the clear crisp skyon the morning of September 11, 2001,
I drove my car to the Jiffy Lube express.
The orange jumpsuit refused to change my oil.
All systems down, he explained,
but I was welcome to wait inside.
The customer lounge overflowed
with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and people awake at the crack of dawn.
Proximity to the nation's capitol
had stopped all lubing and changes of oil.
My world suddenly screeched to a halt
as I glimpsed the tragedy transfixing the room.
The Pentagon breached by billowing flames.
Co-workers broken and bent.
Green earth in Pennsylvania
instantly transformed,
a searing black hole in its stead.
It's the end of the world as we know it, I mused,
but somehow,
I didn't feel fine.
For a few liberating moments,
their bodies stretched over the sky.
Touching down only for an instant
before their spirits continued to soar.
I can't shake their free falling images.
Facing off with death,
they chose to breathe what was left
of the clear crisp morning sky
before silten ash covered lower Manhattan
like an overstuffed ominous plague.
My thoughts turned to home and family
as I bid the orange jumpsuit a shaky goodbye.
My car would still run on dirty oil
but not America.
Never again.
Now, a clear crisp morning sky
always reminds me of the spirits who soared 9/11
while the rest of the world watched in horror
as the towers came tumbling down.
Copyright 2007. Cheryl Snyder Taragin
