After: An All American, Post 9-11 Love Poem

 

After he got on one knee, and she said, I do. After

 

they watched the televised bombs

disappear the city. After everyone fell

 

asleep. After shock and awe, him and her

 

making love while tanks rolled through that desert city's

streets, erasing memory. After forgetting their sorrow,

 

and bringing the babies into the gaping

blue. After nursing and swaddling

 

while department store massacres unfolded,

perfume counters and bullet casings

 

on the brink of Christmas. Red, red, blue

red, blue. After sirens. After boys with black hole eyes

 

emptying their grief into automatic weapons. After

playing house, buying curtains, making lists, pretending to be perennial

 

and not just another boom. After the cold, hard ground,

the evergreens mute and blazing. After

 

the mothers and fathers on the other end of the

headlines, the news of children huddled in closets.

 

After eyes hollow, after no ground could ever be

hallowed. After she heard the news and called him,

 

both of them with nothing to give the other

except a silence to weep against. After winter

 

after winter, after winter, after winter,

it's a wonder it didn't happen sooner:

 

The two of them screaming at each other

in the restaurant parking lot,

the bar, the idling car,

 

the neon blue and red Open sign coloring their faces with bruises,

blinking, open open open.

 

After he, after he gets on one knee,

and she says, I do. I do. After

 

they watch the televised

bombs, the nothing

 

blooming. After everyone falls

asleep. After shock and awe, him and her

 

making love while tanks roll through another city, erasing memory,

 

Oh, America, who are you

to tell them that love is anything

 

but holding on.