Keyboard (Sarai’s 9/11 poem)

A keyboard,
a Raggedy Ann doll,
a clock.
Two days I watched,
the first without interruption
except for what
biology required.
The second cleaning
house with the t.v.
the only thing I
could concentrate
Sick from watching,
my head swelling
from images,
firefighter #9468,
few people telling
the real truth,
of body parts
or if they did,
edited for our delicate
The doctor who siad
what you see on t.v.
is nothing to what
the devastation
The man who saw
thirty to forty people
Two days I watched
bootleg footage
of freelancers who went
where they weren’t
supposed to go.
Long, slow close-ups –
all I could make out
a keyboard,
a Raggedy Ann,
a clock.



There is no point
in going to the doctor
with trifles,
the stress will do
more damage
than any cure
might do good.
If I collapse
on the floor
with a heart
give me an aspirin
and take me
to the hospital.
If I break a leg
I’ll probably
have to go.
If all my hair
falls out
take me to
the doctor.
If there is one
hair left,
until it drops.



Biting cold,
rain close by.
People imagine
this doesn’t happen
in California.
The result of successful advertising.
The same ads that always
scared me,
beaches littered
with bare flesh.
I could not fathom
being in such a crowd.
It has kept me away
from rock concerts
and New York City,
especially Times Square
at New Year’s.
And European travel
that necessitates
tour buses.
I have an aversion to groups,
always say I am not
a pack animal.
I like room
to move around
Need air
and space
and quiet
to know what
I am thinking,
the right
to sit down
and stare
without intervention.