It Can Be Ours

It is not mine.
It has always been yours
But, It has grown to be ours
As we’ve shared our stories
Of where we were
Of what was happening
Of who told us
To turn on the television
To drop what we were doing
And listen
To our country
All of it
Take a collective gasp,
As we couldn’t really process
That image on the screen
In the sky
That smoke rising faster
Too dark, too thick to see anything
As the terror grew in our gut
Bringing about the strongest sickness
We ever felt.

Then the horror was worse.

In the following Days
Month and Years of trying to process
What would not, could not be processed,
The lack of understanding remained
In our hearts and minds.

And the tears brim in our eyes
Over a decade after that Day
Conveying the unequivocated empathy
Of a collective heartbreak
In remembrance of the Day
We will never forget.

So as I walk
By your names,
Your flowers, your notes,
Your memories,
I can’t help but think
It’s not mine.

The day and the aftermath
Are so deeply imprinted
On my generation.
I grew up
In the transition of everyone:
Trying to decide
How best to handle
Our collective grief.
We started to talk about it, write about it
Wearing our colors
That red, white, and blue
As a form of mourning and strength:
To then avoiding the topic, in an effort,
To let the grief settle,
To allow for our resolve to stay strong
Be that show of our solidarity.

But it’s not mine to mourn,
It’s ours to mourn.
I can carry your sorrow
And you, my strength
For this moment
No matter how brief
Take from that relief some
Long awaited breath and
I’ll stand guard,
Reading the names,
Remembering your memories,
The lives that you had.

Take your reprieve.

It doesn’t have to be yours alone,
To carry
To mourn
To remember
It can be ours.



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