Sunday, February 7, 2010
A throat that is tight, a voice with an edge of shrill not usually there. The same as a year ago, watching the sky, feeling its hot, sticky weight, wary of something to come. Days glued to a radio, volume low so kids hear no detail. Nights glued to a radio, half sleep and warnings in my ear. Unable to watch television, sickened by the sensational, the insensitive, the cut to the sports report. Hear tales of luck, hope, devastation, despair – the horror of the roar of the fireball. Listen to the quiet now, wonder how it must be to survive that Saturday, to mark this day.