I walked grimly

I wrote this poem on the night of September 11, 2001.

I walked grimly,
bile rising to burn my throat,
the rage of nations pounding my head.
 
I walked slowly, staring at the ground;
feeling each step: foot, ankle, knee;
the thud of my joints, the methodical plod of life.
 
I passed a field.
A mare and her colts grazed
a midnight snack.
Their hooves struck the earth
with a solid thump;
they snorted in content
as they chewed mouthfuls of grass.
 
I walked on.
My pace quickened;
I gulped air;
the rage of nations subsided
before the joy of life.