Accident

Once she was a mystery of life
Now she is skyping with her friend
They are both childless
It rings a hollow tone: childless
No longer a mystery of life. Just less
She found stretch mark cream in an Airbnb bathroom
It was just cream
Rubbing it on her belly, she felt nothing
I was just an accident
I was just an accident
I was just an accident, even to myself
She is curious about crying nipples
To her friend she finds herself saying:
«I wonder how I’ve managed to avoid conceiving
You know, by accident
So many years. So little fruit
You know, maybe I would’ve just kept it
Probably, I can’t even do it», she says
She eats dried figs from a container
I was an accident
I was an accident
Once I was an accident, and a mystery of life
Once I made people believe in miracles, or God, or love
I was the hour of the star
I moved like a jellyfish
I smelled of nothing
And she was told she was the closest
Her mother came to magic
She is made for other things
Born for cubist yearnings
Born to write. Born to burn
She is an accident
She is flesh in dissent
She is an accident
A curious androgyne
She is an accident
Flesh in dissent
Flesh in dissent