R.B. Horsley

Sep 23, 2011

North Garden resident, R.B. Horsley, began writing poetry after the death of her sixteen-year-old son.





It's been ten years now,
ten years
since the airplanes crashed,
the towers collapsed,
the Pentagon split.

The structural detritus
has long been hauled away,
repairs made,
memorials erected.

Ten years ago,
our world was not perfect,
but in our ignorance
we felt safe;
for a decade now,
we have learned to live
with the loss
of this innocence.

Others, closer to the tragedy,
suffered intimate loss:
mothers, fathers, siblings,
husbands, wives, children,
relatives by blood,
relatives by love,
friends they can no longer
or talk to,
friends and relatives whose lives

On the anniversary
of these losses,
we remember
those who grieve
for whom ten years
is an eon
a nanosecond.

Today, fingers may fumble
to light candles,
but candles will be lit;
today, voices may break
to speak,
but beloved names
will be spoken aloud;
today, minds
may dream to deny
yet will accept the unimaginable;
today, hearts
may wish to forget
but the heart
cannot help but remember.

May we fill our hearts
with the love
the deceased bequeath us;
and may our minds imagine
peace on this earth, our home;
may our words profess
faith in God’s power
to heal and to forgive;
and, may we use our hands
to reach across
cultural and religious divides
to bless
our shared humanity.

R.B. Horsley