How I find strength in the women around me
As spring approaches, poet and artist Frieda Hughes finds herself missing the company of the women who have been her rock as she recovers from injury
FUTURE DEPARTURES
The magnolias unfurled their plush pink candles
As startling in daylight as fireworks at night,
And pain ground down my left leg to a point
Where it was spiking itself randomly without reason.
As I agreed to surgery the consultant explained
That I will not be making the most of dry roads and motorbikes,
Or swinging from a light fitting crying; ‘Look at me sparkle!’
When I am six weeks on crutches.
Just as I am soon to lose the use of a leg
For long enough to watch my huskies atrophy,
Two women who work for me announce they are leaving,
Each retiring in their own way, each younger than I am.
Whereas I feel I am just beginning, now that I have a grip
On all the aspects of my life that used to slip
Between the bags of cement, brick-stacks and roofing slates
Of my years renovating. My temporary imbalance
Is going to be more than physical: I gaze at the hellebores
I dug in three years ago, and the granite fountain,
And wonder how hard it is to climb a cliff-face on crutches
Without the women I have come to depend upon.