What struck me first was their panic–
how tangled in hoses my father,
swabbing muck from my eyes,
clutched me like a baby
gorilla: unsure whether
to hold me or hurl me.
Under the angels’ white lights
my mother shrieked; my sister,
I recall, leaked tears for fourteen
floors. Black day, black day,
is all my brother could mutter.

Then, quick and blue, I saw
my first bird: again and again,
beating its beauty against
the clear windows of my new home.