Vista Above Vestry, a poem by Michael Ball at
Jametlene Reskp

Vista Above Vestry

Vista Above Vestry

written by: Michael Ball



In Tribeca time, her illegal loft
was underbrush looking up and up
at the World Trade Center twin towers.

Much like squirrels foraging
for acorns beneath oaks,
pedestrians shuffled to offices
and bodegas from there,
ever glancing at the looming
bluish monuments to finance.

Then and at once, the towers fell.
She was not home for that, but heard
rumbling and roiling rubble, and
saw the fists of horrific clouds
from her Episcopal church where
she was literally serving the poor.

Even that 9/11 night, locals simply
had to say one to another that
“The towers are gone.”

I was merely a frequent visitor
to the loft with the painters and
Watson, the massive Great Dane.
I too still look South above Vestry
between the loft building walls
to note stupidly in disbelief,
“The towers are gone.”

Latest posts by Michael Ball (see all)