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This poem was written in reaction to the World Trade Center attack. But do not look for direct descriptions of the event. It is a more personal reflection. September 12, 2001


What is this ever?

This notion of forevermore,

where people disappear in massive explosions or even die smaller, quieter deaths?


Where ever is the next condition, consisting of rocks and air,

missing stairs,

stars and clouds,

no people there

and seeing you not anywhere?


Who wants this granite future that is a specious destiny, a place of endless repose?

This fathomless, bottomless ever, I do not wish to know.


Instead, I touch your cool face and draw you close

Now to feel your breath and quibble over sundries

with your ear,

hear tiny talk about life's wear and tear

and work pressures so strangely we hold dear...
How now, when crazy-men abound, fear brings us near,

we summon courage from wherever it can be found.

And we comfort each other against the insanity of always,

the tyranny of almost was.


That is all the ever -- that I ever want.

—— Albert Fried-Cassorla, September 12, 2000

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