I didn’t immediately comprehend what I was gazing at, distracted, as I edged along the curb of a busy cross street during the early morning rush. I couldn’t imagine why they were there. Soaring straight to the sky, two rusted construction beams purposefully erected directly in front of a local fire station. As my mind began to clear, the metal plaque confirmed that what stood in front of me was not only in honor of the almost 3,000 people who died on September 11th, but physical evidence of the horror of that day.
Scouring the rusted steel edges I wanted to find an explanation for the madness, I wanted to feel something instead of going numb, to find beauty in the ugliness. The pain, horror and confusion was palpable in the blast etched remains of the steel, and the need to walk away was overwhelming. I left without any answers to calm the static.