September 11, 2001

I turn on the TV and watch as the plane slowly flies into the Tower.
Hail Mary, full of grace,
My daughter wanders downstairs, shoes in hand, turns to look at what has me transfixed on a weekday morning.
The Lord is with thee.
“Where is that, Mommy?” she asks.
Blessed are you among women
“New York,” I answer. She nods. The name is familiar, like Venus. Like Mars.
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
“Do we know anyone there?” Her eyes are blue and full of innocent concern.
Jesus
“No,” I answer, thinking of friends, family, business associates, safe here.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
She has seen the green glass tower where I work, tucked amongst taller buildings.
Pray for us sinners,
But a skyscraper in one city looks much like the next.
Now
“Where’s the tallest building in the United States?”
And at the hour of our death,
“Chicago.”
Amen.
My daughter looks relieved.

--written November 9, 2001