The Accident

A story from my youth.

“Look, mommy, a truck!”
Did I think it, did I say it?
I ponder all the time,
If those four words
forewarning words
had ever fled my mind.

Cascades of glass and metal
singe deep into the flesh.
Freeze frame; support beams buckle
Clench eyes ‘midst fatal trek.
“When the orbs continue broadcast
I’ll rise from bed a wreck,
put collared shirt on backwards,
wait for the bus, bedecked.”

Oh, look just how they dance.
The thoughts of four years old,
but that’s not how fey prance,
coming to on algid world.

But wait - Where’s the car?
Aureate does shroud my view.
I must be counting stars,
My mother’s face peers right on through.

She’s crying. There’s tears.
She’s wailing in my ears.
The stars up in the sky,
are floating high for I.
Transfiguration
comes with pain.
Frail frame, surged by amps;
I let rip primal cry,
My stars become streetlamps.

Take me from this place.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
Sonorous shouts, evading space
Mom why? It hurts. It hurts.

The essence twists to torment.
Body warps to throes.
Soon enough the crowd
Slinks from its lingering shadows.
These flames are never-ending
when life has been so short.
Perhaps there was no mending -
no saving this rapport.

She laid me down to asphalt.
They scoop me up in light.
They drive me with the voices.
They blare their sirens bright.

The screaming doesn’t falter.
The screaming lasts all night.
They drive me with the voices.
They blare their sirens bright.

No one is helping - Why?
Do they just not hear my cries?
Nobody’s helping - Why?
Am I but doomed to die?

The light fades fast as ever.
Which to say’s as fast as never.
Please repel encroaching nether -
Gurney squealing to the doc.

There is no numbness now.
No drug they have will do.
They don themselves in emerald gowns;
that pristine healing frock.

Got no forehead now -
the glass had tilled the soil.
There is no time for how.
It begins; endless toil.

Each stitch
a twitch
a jerk
and cry.
An angel dies,
Says I, Says I.

Each stitch
a clinch
a yerk
and sigh.
Nerves of steel,
They try, and try.
And though I am far from it
I feel I'm bound to die.

This procession plays all night.
Each breath infused with pain.
Fighting ceaseless fight,
young eyes stir endless rain.

My mother runs in the room.
Grandmother follows suit.
It ended without ending
of this I tell you truth.

My mother runs in the room,
Still choked by mortal air.
An officer follows suit
hand held on teddy bear.

Author's Note

When I was four years old, my mother and I went out to drive to Wal-Mart. I had begged her for a new toy since it was around Christmas, and I won the battle of wills. As we pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot, we were rammed by a drunken fireman flying home from a Christmas party. He didn't stop until halfway down the street. Luckily it was him however, because he got out and started helping the best that he could, being a firefighter. One of the strangest things was that this was in the middle of the night, when most people were home, in a commercial district, and it was as if the people who crowded around appeared from thin air.

This is simply the event, as I saw it, from my point of view at the time.

Please enjoy!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very serious story. Car accident involving small children are very scary. I like the memory of the accident you wrote. I remembered bad thing that happen to me as a young child. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[nigrum homonculus]

...this is...something else. never ever read a piece like this. im just in awe. seriously. please make a movie out of this and take my money.

[Allan Eddings]

Apologies for the delay in reviewing this piece. I have no words at my disposal to communicate my utter admiration for this piece, I can simply say with no small amount of envy that it is far beyond any talent of mine.

This piece is spectacular its imagery is so oppressive as to make its reality, its world, the only reality and world of which the reader is aware of while remaining transfixed by the words. The rhythm is sublime, it rises and falls with the intensity and lulls of the story itself. Truly I cannot accurately convey my utter adoration of this work. I would now place this amongst my favourite works of poetry either here or anywhere...damn words fail me!

This work is simply brilliant and too far above poor words of mine to exalt, and so I shall silence my meagre praise and instead allow my silence to convey my awe.

Humbly and with great admiration,
A.E.