Photo credit: Greg Semendinger/NYPDT
On the day after, we walked from downtown,
from our apartment to 14th Street to catch a train
to Penn Station, but the subway was closed.
Most streets were glutted with silence, empty
of the usual yellow cabs with their impatient horns,
and people, except for one block just east of here.
The healthy ones, with that zombie look, lined-up
close to give all they could spare of their blood
to those who had spilled theirs yesterday.
The sky had an eerie light scattering through
the heavy dust still settling on them, along with
a choking malaise that still recurs every year.
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