Safe Space

when I drive into a city near an airport
and (through what I always hope
is some trick of perspective)
see a long-winged plane appearing to aim itself
at a tall building

I feel something shrivel inside

I do not know which organs shrink

but I know that one organ
that does not shrink
is my heart
that is too full of old blood
to diminish so
it wouldn’t be safe to be around me
if it were to compress so

all I know is that suddenly there’s a contraction
and though nothing’s being born
there is a void where there was something
a clearing left inside
by a drawing back of everything else

while it refills more quickly than it once did
it still takes a while to feel right again

it can’t be good that my innards are so terrified of an illusion
it can’t be good that after each incident I ask myself

what is safety

there’s one video out there of that first strike in New York City
taken by chance by a crew filming something else
I’ve only seen it once
I can’t watch it again without that same void opening within
I know what I would see
I would see once again my coworkers dying
I don’t need to see that
I turn my head instead
toward the farce of a safe space

what is safety

what is safety to those who came through not as survivors
but as beaten witnesses
to those who came through such times
with scars we are ashamed to admit we bear

because really what did we see
what in fact happened to us
compared to others

nothing happened to us
nothing happened to me

except now my organs collapse and expand
I go from hollow to bursting in seconds
I don’t ever feel safe for very long

what is safety

we went back to work
in the building with the empty desks
we put televisions in every corner
in case there was all at once an announcement
of an explanation
televisions on at all times in every corner
we walked around for months in there
with the televisions on

we went back to the building
after we sang for our dead
and the children of our dead
we thought of them as our dead
built a wall for them near the parking lot
built a wall and a garden
where the music is always on

years later in that building
the televisions are still on
all set to the news
waiting for the announcement
of an explanation
that will never come

those few of us who remain
from the days when we walked around that building
as if possessed by those who had seen what lay beyond
speak only to each other of those times
as we would like to speak of them

when we are asked by those
who were not there
we talk a different way
because it feels that
no matter how many people
are present
the teller
is in fact
the only listener 

sometimes I have to go outside
to get away from it all
and talk myself solid again

out there I am reminded that

the honeybees are vanishing
as are the monarchs
as are the long winged albatrosses
and who knows
what the world is meant to look like now
or where the safe spaces are

what is safe or sacred
what is worth cherishing
when honeybees and monarchs are vanishing
and the long-winged albatrosses might disappear

when someone asks me
what it was like

a dead weight
on my neck
squeezes a story out of me
in an affectless voice
with eyes set dead ahead
leaving a void
same way every time

I saw it all
still see it all
the broken walls
the broken birds
again and again
the birds
fly into the walls
the bird
flies into the wall
the bird
falls into the field

is there a place where
those long winged birds
land safely

how far ahead
is an end

fact:
long winged albatrosses
fly almost endlessly
only landing to feed
breed
or die

safety
is the only benefit
of extinction