Poem: The Accident on My Family Farm


I was heading down the basement,
when our farmhand came running in through the back door.
“Hanne, Hanne,” he shouted after my mother
who was in the kitchen,
preparing our lunch.

Immediately, my mother came out in the corridor,
our farmhand sounded strange.
“Christian has fallen from the scaffold and has hit his head terribly.
He is unconscious. You’d better call for an ambulance. ”
Mom looked terrified.

I was standing on the stairs,
and I did not know whether I should still do
as my mother had said. Should I still go down
the basement after the frozen bread in the freezer
hich we were going to have for lunch,
or shouldn’t I? Nobody told me.
I was totally alone.  

My mom and the farmhand immediately ran out of the door.
I was completely left alone.
My sister was sleeping in her bed.
She was only three months old
I spent most of the time
looking out of the windows to see
if I could get a glimpse
of my father through the port of the barn.

It was very dark in there.
I saw how the craftsmen
ran through the port and did get out again.
My parents were in the middle of building a new stable.
One after another the craftsmen suddenly threw their tools,
crawled down from the roof,
and ran into the port of the barn.

It was totally quiet. Complete stillness.
There was nothing to see for a long time.
I started waiting for the ambulance to come,
Then maybe again
someone would get out from the darkness
of the port of the barn.

The siren sounds from the ambulance
became more and more intense.
There was a fascinating blue flashlight
when it finally came.

Our farmhand rushed out from the barn.
He went straight to me.
There was something wrong with my dad,
but he would be fine again,
he said to me.

I didn’t really care,
of course, I would like my father to be alright,
but I was more interested in
seeing if my father was bleeding from his head,
when he got out into the openness of the farmyard
on the stretcher.

How did he look now?
How did he look
when he had hit his head and was unconscious?
Was his head crushed flat?

I had often seen a cow or a pig
bleeding from the head.
Sometimes the vet
had to come to  kill them,
But of course, this was not the case
in this situation, I knew that.

It was terribly exciting for me,
how bad my father was hurt.

A little later, my grandma from Sjørring
came to take care of me,
even though I would rather
that my grandma from Nors had come.

Grandma was a lot
different this day. She took me up
on her lap. I was told
that my father had fallen down from a lift
in the barn and that he had hit his head severely.
I don’t know why they kept saying this.
I had already understood that.

My grandmother said
that he was unconscious.
“Is it like being dead?” I asked.
Grandmother didn’t particularly like that question,
And she was very quick to get rid of it.
My father was certainly not dead, she said.

I made myself cry.
“Maybe we should pray to God,”
I said. “Can’t he do something?”
Grandma woke up a little
and said that God could do anything
he wanted.

Grandmother and I decided
to sit on the couch
and  we prayed to God
that my father would survive.

We prayed a lot, folded our hands many times,
and I hoped that God could help my father.
The more I prayed, the more I was sure
that God would have my dad survive.

I walk around all night and prayed to God,
And when I was tired and going to sleep,
Grandma lay a little with me,
until I fell asleep.
At this point, I was completely sure
my dad was in good hands.

The next morning, when I woke,
I immediately went to the kitchen
where my grandmother was sitting at the kitchen table:
I asked, “Has my father survived?”

Grandmother did not look too sad.
She said the surgery had gone well.

It was great luck that I had prayed to God,
I said. “Then he might come home today?”

“No, unfortunately, it’s going to take a long time,”
my grandmother said.


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