I walked grimly

I was living in Switzerland on September 11, 2001. The night of the attacks on the World Trade Center, I walked the streets of my little neighborhood in a town called Sorengo. After my walk, I composed this poem.

I walked grimly,
bile rising to burn my throat,
the rage of nations pounding
my head.

I walked slowly, staring at the ground;
feeling each step: foot, ankle, knee;
the thud of my joints, the methodical
plod of life.

I passed a field.
A mare and her colts grazed
A midnight snack.
Their hooves struck the earth
with a solid thump;
they snorted in content
as they chewed mouthfuls
of grass.

I walked on.
My pace quickened;
I gulped air;
the rage of nations
subsided before
the joy of life.

By Timothy Hankins

A theologian, pastor, and writer who seeks to teach and live the fullness of the ancient Christian faith. Anglican in a Wesleyan way (read: Methodist).