THE WOMAN

IN THE WHEELCHAIR

Poem for Monday November 24, 2014

FIELD OF VISION

I remember this woman who sat for years
in a wheelchair, looking straight ahead
Out the window at sycamore trees unleafing
and leafing at the far end of the lane.

Straight out past the TV in the corner,

The stunted, agitated hawthorne bush,

The same small calves with their backs to wind and rain,

The same acre of ragwort, the same mountain.

She was steadfast as the big window itself.

Her brow as clear as the chrome bits of the chair.

She never lamented once and she never

Carried a spare ounce of emotional weight.

Face to face with her was an education

Of the sort you got across a well-braced gate –

One of those lean, clean, iron, roadside ones

Between two whitewashed pillars, where you could see

Deeper into the country than you expected

And discovered that the field behind the hedge

Grew more distinctly strange as you kept standing

Focused and drawn in by what barred the way.

© Seamus Heaney