On the Ninety-Ninth Floor

She’d had trouble with gravity before–
not like this, when she’d first get up
as morning dew evaporated, stealing drops
from slender stems and delicate petals.

This time, her feet firmly on the ground,
suddenly shaken by weightlessness
she grabbed the chairback, gripped her desk
willing herself to hold fast, endure the motion.

It was still morning when she left earth’s hold
finding she was floating above the streets,
but not afraid of the consequence of sky
eager to explore this new sensation, serene.

Falling was out of the question, of course,
she was always well-grounded, luckily
the headwinds were gentle at that moment,
giving her time to look at the city below.

She worried there might be something
she should remember, someone she should
be thinking about right then, but the beauty
of the day washed over her like cool water.

There were others floating too, rising
into the glory of yellow sun and starlight–
a perfect piece of lemon meringue pie, beckoning
her to grandma’s kitchen, comforting and warm.

She smelled vanilla and baby powder, as if
holding her little girl to her breast, Emily
she said, smiling, and then Jack as the light
took her into its center, ringing a single silver bell.


Shann Palmer – Β poet, musician & teacher. (poem link)

This piece represents 9/11 and how death came to many of those who were in the building, particularly on the Ninety-Ninth floor.Β  It explains one view point, of course made up, but one view point that is supposed to be going to heaven.


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