2018's Version of Poem in My Pocket Day

I can't believe I almost forgot Poem in My Pocket Day! I put it on my calendar and in my planning book, but until I looked at the date ten minutes before school started, it slipped my mind. And then, I thought to compose a draft of an email reminder to my faculty early, but I ended up sending it two days early instead of saving it for today. Needless to say--but you notice I'm saying it anyway--this year has been a little crazy.

So, for a recap for those who may not be familiar with Poem in My Pocket Day, here are the rules:

1. Find a copy of your favorite poem...or at least one that you like...or has touched you recently...or whatever. Digital is fine, but it's more human if you print a copy or transcribe it by hand.

2. Carry it around in your pocket (at the ready) all day. You shouldn't have to search for it on your phone every time you pull it out.

3. Share your chosen poem with people throughout the day.

4. Relish the poetry of this world!

(Taken from http://irelandinruins.blogspot.com/2016/08/)

For those whom I won't run into today, here is my poem this year. Recently, I picked up a copy of Seamus Heaney's Selected Poems 1988-2013 and have been marveling at his craft, even when I have to look up older Irish farm words. This one stuck out to me as I was reading during class last week, and I knew it would find its way into my pocket this year.

Field of Vision
Seamus Heaney

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 hawthorn 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 was 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.

Do me a favor: take time for poetry today and share with me as well. Post your poem in the comments here or via social media somewhere (#pocketpoem), or send me a message if I won't see you face to face. Happy Poem in My Pocket day!