RAM: The Open Book

Eight years ago today it seemed that the world was on the brink, the edge. Planes were flying into buildings. The buildings were falling down.

The phone rang. It was my downstairs neighbor. “Wake up! We’ve been attacked! Turn on the tv!”, he said. I paused a moment to look out the window at the incredibly blue sky. It was so quiet for a Tuesday. So, so quiet. “OK”, I said and hung up.

I got out of bed and turned on the television. I sat on the edge of the bed for the rest of the day and watched the World Trade Center crumple into dust on an endless loop.

He didn’t have much further to go to get home. He drove the car into the sloping field off of the left side of the road that was just on the other side of the creek from the house. Whereas the local bar he came from was a few miles down the road. I think all he suffered was a hangover.

I sit in strangers’ houses
and I watch their tvs
and feed their cats
and walk their dogs
and turn their lights on and off
and use their espresso machines
and eat their food
while they frolick
in some sun drenched locale
resting from the rigors
of their world

I have a week
or two
at the most three
to try and pull my life
together

the strangers’ return
is marked by
packed bags passing
each other
on the way in and out
the door

in the end
we both return
to the normalcy of
our lives.