“You’re safe.” I promise her inconsolable grief-stricken body.
We visit Ground Zero. Jet planes spin white trails in a blue sky full of hope; sunlight fills the deep void below.
“Did you see bodies falling, Momma?” Our son asks in childlike innocence. “Why didn’t you catch them?”
Her fragile body stands motionless, face damp from silent tears.
“I saw them, baby." She wraps burn-scarred arms around her child. “But I couldn’t catch them.”