9-11-01

O terrible beloved
I tremble before you
I remember you!
O terrible beloved, in the night
when I am shaken by fever and chills;
today, awakening, I remembered you before
the mists of sleep had vaporized
your breath, your eyes, your hair I remembered
your name, your home, your family I remembered
O terrible beloved, the morning is cooler now,
autumn is coming
the blood lilies are blossoming and still I remember
you, O terrible beloved and in the city,
people are shopping, they meet for coffee, they
take the dog for a walk, and they all, I promise you,
remember you. A turn, a pause, a faraway gaze,
“what was that you said?”
Your essence fills the sky, it is in our noses, in our throats, in our lungs, so
sharp we cannot even speak of you, O terrible beloved
you are burned into our bones and blood and brain
we are swept away, in awe of your power

And when
a long, long time passes, and we are doing laundry, laughing with
someone we hardly know, and when we are chopping onions,
taking the children to the park,
and we imagine we have forgotten, we will still remember,
O terrible beloved, your searing image is burned into our eyes,
and minds, and hearts, and even though we will wish
with all our might that we could just lie down and sleep,
that we could drown
our thoughts in drink, or talk, or making love, or movies, or driving
fast, even though we would give anything, anything to forget
you we will remember,
O terrible beloved.

How will we remember you, beloved?
In nightmares, sifting through mountains of rubble with
our bare hands, harrowed by your fragments
muzzled against your smells, filling buckets
with you over and over, exhausted, will we
remember you?
Or will it be that old familiar song, where
some cry out for vengeance, to remember you;
and some cry out for justice, to remember you;
and some cry out for war, to remember you. But still
we are listening, sifting through your bits and pieces,
and listening for your voice, a tap, a moan
O terrible beloved, some hopeful sign,
what do you want us to do?

Pressing our ears more closely to your lips,
we are listening, in fear and trembling, because
you ask of us what we do not yet know how to give:
and this work, this awful work
must begin here, and now, with a broken heart, in
rage, in darkness, and in deepest
ignorance, O terrible beloved
surely you ask too much of us! What?
We must sift barehanded through the broken
rubble and steadfastly gaze upon the horrors
we have created, here,
on our home planet, and then when
millions of hands, and minds, and hearts have tirelessly worked
to clear
the smoke and broken bodies and families and nations
we have crushed, and when we have tenderly cared for the wounded
and fed the hungry, and sheltered the homeless,
and comforted the despairing everywhere,
we will rebuild, with endless patience
the world of compassionate wisdom that can be
your only monument,
O terrible beloved
So that from this moment on,
in every place and every time, all people
will remember you
with deepest gratitude and
joy

I hear you.
I understand.
I will remember you.

Peg Syverson