My husband, Brad Mueller, wrote this poem a few years ago to mark an earlier anniversary of that horrific day.
On Falling from the World Trade Center
by Brad Mueller
You made choices
On that day.
Tell me.
They were hard.
Kerosene reeking,
Hell’s hot fire,
Thick black smoke
To breathe.
Broken windows
Like some broken toothed grin.
Macabre humor
At the few choices left.
Did you hope for a savior?
They would ascend after you.
The ground is far
And the sky so blue,
Sun filled. Hope filled.
The promise prayed for.
The promise paid for.
Left foot first?
Or right?
Reach out a hand.
Steady yourself on the sill.
Knees bent,
Jump as far out as you can.
The wind rushes past your ears,
Roaring.
I hope you closed your eyes.
Every doomed floor
Witness to your final fall.
All of life is choices.
That yours should be reduced,
To just those two.
