When my car came to a halt, I realised I was pretty well completely unhurt. I thought about what to do, but a wonderful lady arrived to help me. She took charge of it all, and invited me to sit in her car while I waited for various emergency people and my husband to arrive.
I looked at my car and was sad. It looked far sicker than I was. It seemed strange that my car could be that damaged, but I was fine. I thank the people who make things safer for us all. If it weren't for the safety fence, my seatbelt and safety features in the car, the result would have been tragic rather that merely sad.
Anyway, I thought about all of this, and I dealt with the sadness in my usual way, I wrote a poem about it. Creative writing is my way of getting my head around things. Writing the words down, editing them, playing with them and then sharing them helps me to understand my life, myself and the world.
I truly believe that creative writing has healed me, getting me over my grief at losing my car (it was written off by my insurance company). Creative writing has also helped me to deal with the various issues I have had in my life.
I feel that creative writing is a fine tool for a person to have to help them get through the challenges they have in life. It is a thing I wish to assist people with. That is what I wish to spend the rest of my life doing - assisting people to write their way to a better life.
Anyway, here is the poem I wrote about my car accident. I hope you find something in my words.
It could have been traumatic
Control lost, spin around, crash and spin some more.
Safety found, deep breath and look around.
Help approaches, mobile in hand, she calls for uniformed
help. She saw it all, soothes me, comforts me, a quiet heroine
‘It’s wasn’t your fault’ she says, ‘not your fault at all’
Two more people arrive, soothing, helping, bits of my car
taken off the road. She tells the cop the same
when he flashes up, and starts asking questions,
‘Not her fault,’ she repeats. Mission accomplished,
the helpers all leave, taking with them a new story to tell.
I sit in the cop’s car and he tests me, questions me,
soothes me too, we chat while we wait. ’Not your fault,’
he says. Graham arrives, tow truck arrives,
cop leaves, we leave, returning home,
where life is in control, no spin at all.
I feel soothed not traumatised.
Carolyn Cordon 2011
If this poem says anything to you, please feel free to leave a comment here, thank you.