I wrote this poem right after September 11, 2001. It felt like my heart was ripped apart and 10 years later, the pain still feels so raw and exposed.

I don’t understand that kind of hate.

But today, I am reposting the last poem I wrote. Will I write another? I don’t know and part of me does not care. September Mourn was my chance to let it out all over the paper. When I read it, it makes me cry. Not because I am such a great writer, but because I have lost a little of my innocence.


I love NY.

I am your shops and delis on the avenues.

I am the bright lights and the out of work actors.

Seeking fame and fortune on Broadway, too.

I am the concrete, the colors, the sounds and the aromas.

All wrapped up as fine art.

I am this magnificent city’s heart.

I keep this city going and glowing.

Downtown readings and swinging with my baby uptown.

Where we can cry at each other’s words and dance on each other’s feet.

But we never miss a beat.

I love NY.

I am the lucky few with townhouses that come with breathtaking views.

From the Big Apple’s museums to its Central Park Zoo.

I sleep on subway grates for I am the poor.

With faces you have never seen before.

But I will be there to comfort you.

Because that is what New Yorkers do.

I claim this land to be my very own.

And thank God every night.

That this is my home.

I love NY.

Yellow and black.

Mr. Cabbie, please take me back.

To when only stars fell from the Manhattan sky.

Run the next light, lay on your horn.

Get me away from the city that I will come to mourn.

I beg you, Mr. Cabbie, give me back New York City.

Please, Mr. Cabbie, show me a little pity.

There’s a big tip in it for you if you can.

Take me back to Monday, September 10.

© 2001 elizabeth cassidy