Remembering looking out a Manhattan building office window and seeing a volcanic plume of fire twenty years ago when the second plane hit the World Trade Towers…the moment when my supervisor entered my office in tears, saying that she was unable to contact her cousin Brian, who worked in one of the towers, and then turning to try to call him again…the long walk to Brooklyn in the silver air, past empty gurneys in front of hospitals and milling doctors and nurses in scrubs waiting for the injured that were not coming…the faces of the missing posted on 7th Avenue walls and on Cobble Hill light poles in weeks to follow and the impromptu shrines in front of fire houses…

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