Accident Poem by Caroline Misner
Accident
It was spring
the day I galloped
from my mother’s wound.
I was an accident, she said.
but she swaddled me in trinkets anyway.
In the maternity ward,
where she mused over her flaccid belly,
stitched lovingly tight like a football,
she happed to glance out the window
where a strolling couple paused
and embraced on the park’s path.
Hand in hand, the lovers passed.
That was an accident, too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 12:02:34 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
Beautifully poetic Caroline - your choice of phrases is so good. I love the opening of you 'galloping from your mother; s wound' - excellent read. Greetings from Fay.