The grayline tour stops at

Ground zero

I refuse to get out

I don’t want to see it

But I do

Out the window

Blocks of waste

A huge gaping hole

Of emptiness

A hole so large

It seems it can never be filled again

Like the hearts of the people

Who have lost their loved ones

Ginnungagap, the Icelandic word

For the wastrel gap

In the universe

Before time began

How do we begin again?

How do we fill over the hate

And rage

How do we go on?

Can trees grow here?

Can weeds grow here?

Can something cover the

Pain and sorrow?

The tourist vendors hawk their wares

Like sellers at the temple

Can’t someone stop them?

Turn over their tables in rage

Is not mass death too sacred?

For the Franklin mint?

How do we heal this gaping hole?

How do we walk on without

Falling into this angry gap,

Never to know a way out?

12/5/08