As if it had an edge to it
As if, like a coin, she could flip it
As if it were paper
a crane, a butterfly, if only she knew the art of folding
As if wings
many, oh so many, fluttering upwards
As if thousands of breaths
breathed back into the clean blue face of the morning
As if people never plummeted past office windows
clothes billowing out like failed parachutes
As if eleven and nine were numbers in a game played only by children
ready or not
As if the game could never be replayed
is not now being replayed
crowds cheering
flags waving
…eight…
…seven…
As if half a continent were far enough
As if a decade
As if eight million souls couldn’t hide her
As if fields of wheat could
As if, here, now, in this middle-of-nowhere hospital
she can
fluff a pillow
feel a pulse
make a mark on a chart
save someone
…six…
…five…
As if commandos dropping out of the night sky
As if terrorists descending
As if she could turn off all TVs
As if this side of the world
…four…
…three…
As if she could ever hate that much
As if the tissue she twists in her hands
As if there is any place left
…two…
…one…
As if the reporter’s question
how she feels, today
…heads…
…tails…
As if bodies, inevitably
fall
____________
The day after a team of U.S. Navy SEALs killed Osama Bin Laden, a local television reporter asked a nurse in Newton, Kansas, how she felt. Ten years earlier the woman had been at a desk on the fifth floor of the North Tower when the first plane struck. The woman’s answer contained the phrase “that side of the world.”
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