When the world changed,
I was in an Irish bank
watching the value of my currency
implode. The whole transaction
shuddered, then began to
drop, the way the towers
hovered first, then fell 
as if they were not quite sure, 
in that moment, if gravity 
would still apply. Oh 
gravity, it did. Oh 
grave transaction, even 
then I didn't understand. How
very heavy. Today, we pull 
dead geckos from a 
satellite, considering 
their frozen arms, their 
missing legs. We ask 
ourselves why they 
would fail to procreate 
in space. Is this the way? 
Today, all the children in 8th grade 
are 9/11 babies. Is this 
the way we deal with that
horrible moment of shudder, 
hover, fall? In between
the smoke and consequence: 
an unbearable wait. 
An unimaginable 
thing –  a floating tower! 
Real things are not real. 
Oh world, today, we 
remain ridiculous, 
curious and unkind: 
Russian sex geckos 
die in space. Must we
keep learning – our 
weight is not the same as 
density? Maybe, 
weightless, we all fail 
to feel the earth's 
strong itch, the desire 
to continue, to bring 
new blood into regenerating
limbs. Weightless, 
all hearts freeze 
eventually. Maybe 
tragedy is weightless. 
Maybe grief is some
hot kind of love. All hearts
fall, are broken by the gravity 
of yes – there was a moment 
and it's gone.  Yes, this is
the world you live in now.

HARMONY BUTTON's work has been included in Best American Notable Essays of 2015, and she has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Web awards. Her work has appeared in journals such as Colorado Review, Chicago Quarterly, Southwestern American Lit, Cobalt, Rock & Sling, Bayou and Drafthorse. Find more at  
The Adirondack Review