I can almost forget. Almost, but never.

The impact of the second plane. The plumes of black smoke. The bodies falling through the sunny sky.

The rumble. The towers’ collapse. The enveloping white cloud filled with asbestos and powdery debris.

Later, the candle memorials. The photograph collages of loved ones. The newscaster’s voice breaking up.

And always, always the interminable wait for any new developments.

All twenty years ago. On that day, as sunny as today.

North and South Pools
a cracking voice
reads their names



Author’s Note: this haibun was First published in Failed Haiku, Issue 22 (October 1, 2017)

note: this version has been updated for this year.

Main Image: Loco Steve, Photograph taken on 09-19-2001 at world trade Center Ground Zero Site, New York/ License: Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0); Source: https://flic.kr/p/8zoiBL

Second image: Finn, David, photographer. Three nuns viewing a wall covered with missing notices after the September 11th terrorist attack on the World Trade Center, New York City. New York, 2001. Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2002717254/.

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Frank J. Tassone lives in New York City’s “back yard” with his wife and son. He fell in love with writing after he wrote his first short story at age 12 and his first poem in high school. He began writing haiku and haibun seriously in the 2000s. His haikai poetry has appeared in Drifting Sands, Colorado Boulevard Poetry Salon, Failed Haiku, Cattails, Haibun Today, Contemporary Haibun Online, Contemporary Haibun, The Haiku Foundation, and Haiku Society of America member anthologies. He is a contributing poet for the online literary journal Image Curve, and a performance poet with Rockland Poets.

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