Every Time

This entry is part 7 of 12 in the series Issue X: Summer 2012

By Jennifer Morris

Every time I see the clouds, I think of him
Every time I smell a fire, I think of him.
It’s been ten years. It should be easier by now,
but it just gets harder.
I read about it in the paper, watch it on the news,
and it’s a constant reminder.
I’ll never forget that day. . .“Dad,” I said,
“I won’t be home till late tonight, I’m going to
the Yankees game.” He embraced me. I’ll never forget.
Then in two hours it all changed. New York changed,
the world changed, my life was turned upside down
because of two airplanes.
He was gone.
But his memory remains.

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