a tribute |
one morning in New York City, while people crowded by the thousand, hurrying, waiting, swearing as the shriek of metal on metal warned them that the day was beginning, and the Twin Towers were going to gain another layer, someone looked up and saw a tightrope walker. this was when the world was younger, and the thought of the towers was still untempered by death, but forged in possibility. those below thought he would jump, and backed away, but instead, he danced, eight times back and forth between the towers— lying down, kneeling, waving to the crowd so far below, their eyes locked on each magnetic pass across the wire. Philippe Petit planned for six years to sneak his way above the New York streets a hundred ten stories up, and when he did, they asked him why. I see two towers, I have to walk, he said and the artist within nods, and turns to look around the world to see what catches the eye— and what wonder can be made of it. line count: 36 Author's Note ▼ Prompt for: Jan 16, 2016 ▼ |