To The Editor:
Re: “The Bones of September.”
Two vast and trunkless legs of steel
Like silent Pharaohs over Wall Street stood
Scraping the vast canvas of immortality
How many died erecting those towers:
Welders of iron, exoskeletal beams?
Manhattan is missing her two front teeth
Can you help me find them?
What were their thoughts on that morning’s long fall?
Beat, you wings! Just another few breaths!
Millions of fingers – of Flesh, of Memory
Sift and sift that ancient dust
Manhattan is missing her two front teeth
Help me find them!
Now, only a torn, disfigured pedestal remains
And on it these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
“Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away*
Autumn, impervious,
Mocking our imperial pretense,
Swirls her bluest skirt, whips her hips,
Casts the bones of September
Like I-Ching sticks over Baghdad
Throwing sunsets to die for.
Mitchel Cohen
Bath Beach
Editor’s Note: The above poem was reprinted from the author’s “The Permanent Carnival” collection [2006].
