Something on television that is absolutely unbelievable

 

Something on television that is absolutely unbelievable

    Somewhat historical is this sentence taken from the beginning of a phone message I got from Greg September 11, 2001 around 6:30 am. It was unusual that he would call me so early but the tragic events in Manhattan were still unexplainable and the entire country was about the face one of the worst days in our history. Somewhere I have the recording from a perplexed Greg as it happened. At that moment no one knew that these airplanes crashing into the Twin Towers were motivated by terrorists who murdered because of their absurd fairy tales. Before the hour was out the entire country was glued to TV sets all over America trying to figure out what the hell went on at the World Trade Center. Everyone now knows that 110 stories of steel, concrete and glass came down not once but twice and the wounded country obsessed on who and why. Once again the sick minds of true believers drove fools to take lives to make a useless point. 2,977 people died because deluded men from across the globe felt they needed to emphasize the truth of their religion. No one despised the fallacy of the true believer more than Greg so it was appropriate that I heard this terrible news from him on  the day that an entire nation will never forget. We talked about it exhaustively in the following weeks, especially of those poor innocent people who leapt from the burning building or the incinerated flesh become dust  of the victims filling the air as survivors fled from the cataclysm in the middle of New York City. I can hear Greg's voice today without playing the tape saying in a confused state "There is Something on television that is absolutely unbelievable!"

For the Falling Man

Annie Farnsworth

I see you again and again
tumbling out of the sky,
in your slate-grey suit and pressed white shirt.
At first I thought you were debris
from the explosion, maybe gray plaster wall
or fuselage but then I realized
that people were leaping.
I know who you are, I know
there's more to you than just this image
on the news, this ragdoll plummeting—
I know you were someone's lover, husband,
daddy. Last night you read stories
to your children, tucked them in, then curled into sleep
next to your wife. Perhaps there was small
sleepy talk of the future. Then,
before your morning coffee had cooled
you'd come to this; a choice between fire
or falling.
How feeble these words, billowing
in this aftermath, how ineffectual
this utterance of sorrow. We can see plainly
it's hopeless, even as the words trail from our mouths
—but we can't help ourselves—how I wish
we could trade them for something

that could really have caught you.