DIGGING IN, DIGGING OUT

The second tower falls. Turn off the television. The silence will be filled gradually with the clamor of the blood in your veins. Open the door. Take the heavy hand of the shovel on the porch. Move like a dog searching. Stop suddenly, facing the door. Sink slowly to the ground, slowly, back rigid. Slowly, until you rest on your knees, the shovel a wooden horizon laid across your thighs. Dust will mark your cheeks where tears should be.

Begin to dig. The earth at the doorstep is packed hard and dry. It is the most difficult thing you have ever done. Dig a hole which becomes a trench which is something like a riverbed. Only now will the dust become water. Step onto the curled tongue of the shovel, which is a boat. In it you will float on a river kept full with your own hands.

Do you see us yet? You're probably pulling into our harbor even now