September the Eleventh
If you, knowing what you know,Having read what you have read,and rememberingAll the tales you’ve heard
Should despite these warningsname your son Icarus,You cannot feign surpriseWhen blood of your bloodreaching wide as a swan unfurledsteps forward from the sillAnd into the arms of flames.
The updraft buoys him like cinderSo that he might instead be flyingAnd for a moment the air is his.
So, too, Daedalus treading the shore, brushingfeathers of ash  from his dusted shouldersStill thinks of cheating disaster.


Mary Chase