in memory of J. M. – for D. C. – September 11, 2001, Manhattan, New York, USA
A man kneels next to a woman whose eyes are half sealed
shut. He asks if she’s Catholic. This happens minutes later. It’s
confusing & useful. With arms outstretched, palms open, she
walks through the lobby of The World Trade Center Marriott
Hotel. Her cotton-blend pantsuit is singed to her skin. Her
melted shoes have become parts of her feet. There’s a zipper
in her chest. She says “help.” This is one way to think about
wanting to live. To say “minutes later” is confusing & useful,
but not like prayers. Where elegies labor to the surface,
prayers hold court. She asks Jesus’s Sacred Heart not to let her
die. It’s useful to hear how The Marriott’s lobby spasms every
so often after the crash of someone falling into it. “Every so
often” does little to mark Time. The lobby’s floor is a collage
of glass, rebar, brief cases, falling water, parts of arms & faces,
smoke, odd shoes, heels, sandals. The woman feels what she
walks over as glass. We can’t know that, but there it is. Papers
float through grey air like abandoned kites & observant gulls.
This we can know, & what the everlasting-fuck would that
change? She knows there should be pain. She knows it’s
coming the way every one of us knows how certain shadows
shouldn’t look. She presses her fingers to the hem of Time.
Scratchy & soft, like a cat’s tongue. She prays to it in the
likeness of Jesus’s Sacred Heart because she wants to crawl
back inside it. This is one way to think about not wanting to
die. This is how jet fuel destroys Time. Minutes earlier, it’s set
aflame & shot down eighty floors of an elevator shaft, douses
the woman. Sense wants to be made. That’s why there are
prayers. Sense rarely gets made. That’s why there are prayers,
too. The man fills a clean trash bag with cold water & pours it
slowly on the woman. She’s smoldering. She wonders where
her shoes are. The man asks her her name & age & where she
works & … . She calls out for Jesus’s Sacred Heart. They feel,
then hear, then become a part of a great quaking. It’s still
useful to know someone’s name at the end of the world. It’s
confusing why it’s sometimes strange to ask someone their
name. Every one of us knows how certain shadows shouldn’t
look. This is one way to think about dying. We know. The
man kneels next to the woman who’s now lying on a floor that
feels like sharp, burning glass. We can’t know. That’s why he
asks her to say The Lord’s Prayer with him. Every so often the
lobby spasms. Give us this day our daily bread is useful. So is
forgive those who trespass against us, whereas … deliver us
from evil requires judgment. Prayers shouldn’t judge. This, too,
is a judgment. This is why some prayers don’t work. It’s
confusing to judge. This is why we pray. It’s useful. This is one
way to think about living while dying. Thy kingdom come Thy
will be done on Earth … . The lobby spasms. The bodies
aerate upon impact … as it is in Heaven … .
* 9 After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
10 Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
11 Give us this day our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
13 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,
for ever. Amen.
