By Accident

by | Jun 17, 2020 | Poetry

I find myself in Tokyo
with the almost father of my almost
firstborn. It is midnight

on a Tuesday in a rose garden
and I am washing my hands—
ladling cool water over the left

then the right, then sipping
from a cupped palm. This would be
a prayer at home, but here it is

forgiveness. The almost father
positions my face by a particular
flower and takes a photo.

BY ACCIDENT by Anna B. Sutton

Photo used under CC.

About The Author


Anna B. Sutton’s work has appeared in Indiana Review, Third Coast, Copper Nickel, Booth, Los Angeles Review, and other journals. She received her MFA from University of North Carolina Wilmington and a James Merrill fellowship from Vermont Studio Center. She was a co-founder of the Porch Writers’ Collective and has worked for numerous literary organizations, including Humanities Tennessee, Lookout Books, Blair Publisher, Gigantic Sequins, One Pause Poetry, Dialogist, and Ecotone. Her debut collection, Savage Flower, won the St. Lawrence First Book Prize and will be published by Black Lawrence Press in 2021.