On that day
When the Columbia shuttle disintegrated
And seven men and women died
I died
I received no national mourning or memorial
I had no recognition on TV or radio
I am vaguely obscure
The memory of my existence
Will be without notice
That I died
I am that child of poverty
I am that person in the mental hospital
I am the lonely, homeless and rejected
I am the elderly frightened and alone
I am the teenager confused and alone
There will be no flowers, no song, no word of sadness
Remember me
On that sad day
I too, died.
*Commentary
Notice that we (you and I and everyone else) are not in the poem. Those who are speaking are the voices of those who are
dead - the child of poverty, the person in the mental hospital, the lonely, homeless and rejected , the elderly and
the teenager. They are speaking to us. Around the world, some one dies about every thirty seconds. Often, they die without
notice or recognition. Through my poem they registered their complain - "remember me, On that sad day, I too died."
Many have written to me about how beautiful and moving the poem is. Then they go on to say how it is a declaration of all
of us - and we are not even dead yet!
As I watched the announcement ceremonies on television, of the seven who died, I thought about the other ones who died
on that day and received no notoriety. I moved myself about their cry and gave them "voice" through the poem.
