ACCIDENT

I walk through the streets
sensing the light Sunday faces
and I slow down, I look around
I become part of the village.

And I look to the ground
to a puddle in Spring
the water appears to shine
my feelings become so clear

Flashed out of the puddle
I see a child on the sidewalk,
with two small cans of milk
she  must  come  from a farm
and on her way back home
she runs, she looks so pleased

But  she ran  in  front  of  the  car.

Two cans of milk fall to the ground
with her open hands she tries to shield
a frightened body held by paralyzed feet
that attempts to bend backwards, but folds.

Her hands  slide  forward
her chin brushes the hood
her  head  turns sideways
and her blond hair spreads as if on a pillow.

She raises her head
backs off, stands up
looks surprised
arches away, glides, drops
head faster than the hands.

Her body compacts as she stops
She has completed the cycle
she is just a fetal ball.

A can rolls, rolls, rolls,
then stops…

and I look to the ground
to the puddle of milk
but I cannot see a thing
all of it is just too white.

In  a  house  an old man swears
in  the  street  a  woman  cries
and  I  see  a  bubble   break
the puddle becomes light pink.

Patrice Capitant 1987