Genni Gunn





It's been a year for accidents
crashes and
heart attacks
of various strains

revival is a possibility
of miracles and horrors
like marriage
an accident as flimsy as the branch
a flood survivor clings to
when a dam gate opens

I am prone to accidents
knives lurch to slice me
scalding water bubbles onto my skin
ice cracks under my feet

my friend says
heart attack and father
and it's all too familiar
--distance, too, is an accident--
my own father years ago
and me miles away
my friend says
husbands and wives
and death

those I have loved
are ghost limbs
I preserve in phone books
and Christmas lists
unwilling to strike a line through chapters of my life
these accidents--
the things we said or didn't say
the things we did or didn't do--
I relive in slow-motion
the headlights
the crush
the spin
of this divorce and that separation
and I wonder if or how
I could have swerved
to avoid the part
where the heart fails
over and over