by Chris Solter

Created on: August 22, 2009

I believe I was only seven that year

And only in third grade,

It was story time

I don't even remember the book,

A phone call took our teacher away

The students rejoiced,

It was time to play

Myself was no exception,

We did not know

We had no idea,

No sudden revelation

Or understanding,

The teacher came back

A sad look on his face

He said we were going home early,

We didn't know why

We didn't care,

It didn't matter at the time,

When I got home

My sister turned the tv on to watch,

It was only then that I understood

That sad look on my teacher's face,

The billowing towers of smoke

And the gigantic piles of rubble and debris,

Even then I understood

Only seven years old I was,

But every now and again I look back and wonder,

How many people died that day?

How many people shared

The same sad look on my teacher's face?

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