Home By Now
by Meg Kearney
New Hampshire air curls my hair like a child’s
hand curls around a finger. "Children?" No,
we tell the realtor, but maybe a dog or two.
They’ll bark at the mail car (Margaret’s
Chevy Supreme) and chase the occasional
moose here in this place where doors are left
unlocked and it’s Code Green from sun-up,
meaning go ahead and feel relieved—
the terrorists are back where you left them
on East 20th Street and Avenue C. In New York
we stocked our emergency packs with whistles
and duct tape. In New England, precautions take
a milder hue: don’t say "pig" on a lobster boat
or paint the hull blue. Your friends in the city
say they’ll miss you but don’t blame you—they
still cringe each time a plane’s overhead,
one ear cocked for the other shoe.
"Home By Now" by Meg Kearney, from Home By Now. © Four Way Books, 2009. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)
Poem is from The Writer’s Almanac.
I will never forget 9/11 – eight years ago now. Waking up in my apartment in Inman Square, turning on the TV while I cleaned up the living room, assuming I had put on a movie of some sort, then coming to the realization that the images on the TV were real. Friends came over, safety in numbers. Desperately trying to get in touch with my brother who was working near the World Trade Center at the time. Watching the second tower fall. I will never forget.