Scar Stories and Remembering

Today we remember the lives lost

seventeen years ago.

We remember the lives that were

irrevocably changed. We remember them

and do our best to show that life does go on.

Uncle Sam absently rubs the scar

where we were hurt, lost in thought,

thinking about that day when

for many of us the world would never

be the same place as it was September 10, 2001.

It’s another scar, marring such a youthful

body, so many scars to cover, to mourn,

to rub fingers over and wince at the causes

of the original injury. So many memorials,

so many battlefields, cemeteries and monuments.

Yet, we’re talented at looking past the scars,

past the deep wounds of our journey as we stare into

our own reflection in the mirror of history. We still

look good. We’re still strong. We’re still here.

We are resilient and good at moving on.

The wounds, the scars, become trophies over time,

badges of honor advertising the crucibles we’ve

endured, the Quint and Hooper of history,

trading scar stories on the Orca as a giant shark

is chasing them down.

We’re not afraid of history. But we should be

wary of its reach. We should keep an eye on

history, vigilant against those that would twist

the narrative to serve their own selfish desires, wants

or seek to devour us in fear.

It is our duty, as those that do go on, to remember.

It is not a passive act to merely note that on this day

lives were forever changed, but to be aware of the ripples

that event caused and to remember the courage of those souls

that went before us and hope, in the same way, we have the same courage.