Seamus Heaney(b. 1939)
7. The Skylight
You w e r e the o n e for skylights. I o p p o s e d
C u t t i n g into the s e a s o n e d tongue-and-groove1
Of p i t c h pine. I liked it low a n d closed,
Its claustrophobic, nest-up-in-the-roof
Effect. I liked the snuff-dry feeling,
T h e perfect, trunk-lid fit of the old ceiling.
U n d e r there, it w a s all h u t c h and hatch.
T h e b l u e slates kept the heat like midnight thatch.2
But w h e n the slates c a m e off, extravagant
Sky entered and held surprise wide open.
For days I felt like an inhabitant
Of that h o u s e w h e r e the m a n sick of the palsy
W a s l o w e r e d t h r o u g h the roof, had his sins forgiven,
W a s h e a l e d , took up his b e d and walked away.3