It's been 20 years since the planes flew into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center,  and then, the Pentagon, and then, a field in Pennsylvania.

I wasn't writing a blog in 2001.  But I remember the day vividly.

Here's a poem by Joy Harjo:

When the World as We Knew It Ended

BY JOY HARJO

We were dreaming on an occupied island at the farthest edge

of a trembling nation when it went down.

 

Two towers rose up from the east island of commerce and touched

the sky. Men walked on the moon. Oil was sucked dry

by two brothers. Then it went down. Swallowed

by a fire dragon, by oil and fear.

Eaten whole.

 

It was coming.

 

We had been watching since the eve of the missionaries in their

long and solemn clothes, to see what would happen.

 

We saw it

from the kitchen window over the sink

as we made coffee, cooked rice and

potatoes, enough for an army.

 

We saw it all, as we changed diapers and fed

the babies. We saw it,

through the branches

of the knowledgeable tree

through the snags of stars, through

the sun and storms from our knees

as we bathed and washed

the floors.

 

The conference of the birds warned us, as they flew over

destroyers in the harbor, parked there since the first takeover.

It was by their song and talk we knew when to rise

when to look out the window

to the commotion going on—

the magnetic field thrown off by grief.

 

We heard it.

The racket in every corner of the world. As

the hunger for war rose up in those who would steal to be president

to be king or emperor, to own the trees, stones, and everything

else that moved about the earth, inside the earth

and above it.

 

We knew it was coming, tasted the winds who gathered intelligence

from each leaf and flower, from every mountain, sea

and desert, from every prayer and song all over this tiny universe

floating in the skies of infinite

being.

 

And then it was over, this world we had grown to love

for its sweet grasses, for the many-colored horses

and fishes, for the shimmering possibilities

while dreaming.

 

But then there were the seeds to plant and the babies

who needed milk and comforting, and someone

picked up a guitar or ukulele from the rubble

and began to sing about the light flutter

the kick beneath the skin of the earth

we felt there, beneath us

 

a warm animal

a song being born between the legs of her;

a poem.

 

"When the World  as We Knew It Ended" from How We Became Human: New and Selected Poems:1975-2001 by Joy Harjo. Copyright © 2002 by Joy Harjo. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., www.wwnorton.com.