One
name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A
blue name needled into the skin.
Names
of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The
bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet
of names in a green field.
Names
in the small tracks of birds.
Names
lifted from a hat
Or
balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names
wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So
many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.”—Former U.S. poet
laureate Billy Collins, from “The Names,”
read before a special Joint Session of Congress in 2002
(I took the accompanying photo of the World
Trade Center Memorial in Overpeck County Park in Leonia, N.J. The design
features two oblique monoliths symbolizing the Twin Towers, with the names
inscribed of the 154 Bergen County, N.J., residents who perished that day. One
of the names on this tablet was the brother of a former co-worker of mine.
At a memorial service a year after
the awful event, a priest summed up the terror attack—and of those who rose to
meet it--this way: “Hatred started the fires on 9/11. Love put them out.”)
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