By Neil Nakadate
My daughter, who is twenty-
something but still looks sweet
sixteen is in the Big Apple,
taking on life, breathing in death.
Wood metal stone glass
clothing paper snapshots blood
and bone have turned to dust
and smoke. It's not Auschwitz
exactly, but the stubborn haze
and nagging smell are unusual
even for New York.
As the digging continues
spontaneous fires flare,
even after many days—
the spirits of the anguished
drawing air at last.
At Ground Zero
everyone coughs.
My daughter says that
even in a city of millions
it is hard to take a new job
without wondering
why it opened up.
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Tuesday was a mostly quiet working day for me -- articles, photos, enjoying glorious weather which was actually chilly in the morning and was magnificent by afternoon, when I saw the deer family with three fawns traipsing through the woods into the yard of a family whose fence was knocked down in the July storms, leaving their succulents accessible to hungry animals. The bunnies seem to be preparing for winter as they have not been much in evidence, but I still have many photos of them from the summer:
Adam got back at dinnertime from a cross country meet at which he wasn't thrilled with either his own time or his school's performance overall. The Nationals beat the Mets by two and the Orioles beat Tampa Bay by seven, so that aspect of the day in sports was good. When the games were over, we watched Planet Earth's "Jungles" episode on BBC America. Now we have cats thundering all over the house due to the menace posed by the moths outside.
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