Dusted Galoshes

During the hours of the unknown 

I lay wake on the chest of my mother not a thought in my head 

It is a blue sky, the most crisp morning imagined 

The sky has brought no warning only a signal of delay 

The breeze blows by the tall skyscrapers, The winds will soon be troubled 

The air now needs to be sifted 

In the basement of the tower, bonds and trading stocks crashes down through the streets once again 

A light blue brooks brothers tie floats down to the concrete street, a place it has never rested before 

He took the hand of another sifting through this unfamiliar grey desert finding a way to cross the stream, a story we have heard before 

Togetherness now needs to carry the beaten briefcase across the Hudson 

A call home from school that I do not understand, she is only eleven How can we, do we tell her? 

A child plays with imaginary guns on my front lawn playing games now all too real 

Devastation and disbelief travels down to our towns dead end 

Our father who art in heaven, so gently come to a wife’s side 

Warm souls flood our front door bringing grief and comfort to an undeclared widow of time From on top of the hill waits six of us, alone a Mother of five 

A two dollar broker walks to the door covered in grey soot and ash 

Today he wished he had worn his galoshes for now his shoes have been dusted 

We see the sun setting on the city on the top of our hill ,We have been so blessed to be our lucky number seven 

In these times we have been so grateful 

It is the moments after the unknown that we cherish so greatly 

Today has changed. 

The reflection of the sun is golden off the buildings we now do not see, blinding our soaked eyes 

What we have lost will not be forgotten but what still stands will prosper on in our warm hearts that you could come home