On the anniversary of September 11, our collective heartbreak feels particularly acute. We grapple with the echoes of the tragedy, struggling to make sense of the senseless and to honor the lives lost. In moments like these, poets can be guides, helping us to navigate the murky waters of grief and provide words to hold onto when it feels like there is nothing left to say. 

Poetry has long served as a medium for memorializing those who have passed and articulating the inexpressible, and in the collection below, we have included poetry written in the wake of 9/11 and other moments of tragedy and intense grief. We hope these poems provide solace and connection as we reflect on the profound losses of that day.

"Praise Manhattan from a hundred and seven flights up,/ like Atlantis glimpsed through the windows of an ancient aquarium./ Praise the great windows where immigrants from the kitchen/ could squint and almost see their world, hear the chant of nations:/ Ecuador, México, Republica Dominicana,/ Haiti, Yemen, Ghana, Bangladesh." 

From "Alabanza: In Praise of Local 100" by Martín Espada

"The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—/ They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled/ Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve./ More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world./" 

From "Dirge Without Music" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

"The haze on an otherwise clear day reminds us of terror—won't allow even a/ daydream to swerve my mind away from the collapse.//A neighbor hoses down her small front garden: snap peas, zenias, morning/ glory vines, grief. So much grief."

From "Boerum Hill, September (2001)" by Kimiko Hahn

"The sky. A plane in the sky./ A white vet’s image floats/ closer to me, then his pale eyes/ look through mine. I’m a window." 

From "Facing It" by Yusef Komunyakaa

"The sound of the weather/ Is everyone weeping.// Everyone is incidental./ Everyone weeps.// The tears of today/ Will put out tomorrow.// The rain is ashes./ The days are beautiful." 

From "Hum" by Ann Lauterbach