Roses

September 11th is never an easy day. Not for any of us. Especially for those of us who have been raised in the orbit of New York City. Fifteen years is nothing when you can recall every detail of a day.

Today has been a particularly strange day, which included the entire gamut of human emotion. All day I've been searching for the words to say. I'm not sure if these are the right ones. But here are some words anyway.

When we are born
we are all given
roses
some more than others
but nevertheless
roses
each and every one of us.
A full bouquet.

on my desk
sits the vase
fragile, delicate
the sweet scent tickles the air
I watch as a petal
detaches
         drops
                       and flutters
                                         to
                                            the
                                                 floor

gone

it will never live again

life is this exceedingly, precious, delicate thing
fragile

we do not know which petals we will get
nor how many there will be
their color or their scent
will they be blackened at the edges?
will there be thorns?
or beauty beyond compare?

but whatever they may be
they are ours and ours alone
to cherish
to toss
to give away
to hold dear

we are all born deserving of roses

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