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Accidents, a poem by David Garyan


The shadow created by the towel and bathrobe was purely accidental; on a random trip to the bathroom, I saw this profile and took a picture. The day was November 18th, 2013— a Monday. It’s now the 24th of January, 2021, a Sunday, and, to be honest, I still don’t know what to call it, nor can I say what this even is, but for sure it’s not art. Why? Because the result happened purely by chance. And yet, might it be art precisely because the creation was unplanned, natural? Someone simply washed their hands or perhaps even took a shower, and failed to notice their work— does it matter if it was my dad, who’s a dentist, or my brother, who plays the piano? What if it was a guest who paints portraits for a living, or Pontius Pilate himself? Whoever it was— I won’t make a big deal out of it. Accidents can happen to anyone.

January 2021


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