Strangers
I didn't know the man in black pants
who plunged headfirst
from the top of the north tower
or the young mother trapped
behind a locked door
on the eighty-seventh floor.
I never met the couple
crushed in their final embrace
and stuffed into one body bag.
or the fire chief quickly buried
under tons of concrete,
steel, glass, and ash.
Nor did I ever say hello
to the blond woman
who called her husband to ask
what she should tell the pilot
standing beside her
at the back of the plane.
I never shared coffee
with the six-foot-four executive
who said, "If we're going
to crash into something,
let's not let it happen.
Our best chance is to fight."
Yet I have felt sun on their skin
and tasted wine on their lips.
I have run using the long muscles
of their legs and felt air
rush into their lungs, their hearts
pumping in my chest,
and they have combed my hair
each morning, tasted
cereal from my bowl,
and held my children in their arms.
At night they have watched
stars shimmer through my eyes.
Now they have all returned
to earth and air, but I still feel them
stirring inside me, walking
the long corridors of my brain,
searching for something
irretrievable, precious, still there.
--Lucille Lang Day
potty training, and 