Immediately after the accident
the woman in the car behind me
came up to my driver’s door
and asked if I was alright
I wound down the window
answered that I was
and so it seemed to me…
I couldn’t move my right leg
and I couldn’t see why not
but I was still sitting upright
in my seat belt
there was no blood
but this woman knew differently
she saw I was in shock and
before I had even properly registered her face
she opened the van door behind me
climbed in, and kneeling
reached her arm around my headrest
to cradle my head with her arm
holding it upright.
The farmer had backed off his tractor
stood a little way away
phoning the emergency services.
It seemed the most natural thing
in the world to feel the soft bare arm
of this woman, now invisible to me
her disembodied voice near to my ear
reassuring me that it would be alright
and I should relax, keep still
– she was a nurse she said.
Could there have been a
more fortuitous person to
be following me, I thought
as I gave myself up to
her gentle, minimal ministration
of simply holding me
– talking to me
showing me how to put myself
in others’ hands, as I was now to do
for the next few months
then fire brigade and ambulance
arrived and she slipped away
passing me on as it were
and I think of her kindness
which though professionally practised
ambushed us both on a remote road
outside of work, and created
a moment of intimacy
that took away the trauma…
© Andrew Wilson, 2026
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, sanaarizvi in OpenLinkNight, invites us to the live meeting on Saturday and to post a poem to read (if we successfully navigate the temporarily out-of-sync time zones – we Brits don’t put the clocks forward till 29th March!). This is a recent poem from my writers group and was written ITSO The Kindness by Jan Beatty
How fortunate you were to have this woman who so calmly and gently helped you. This reminds of something I hear sometimes on our public radio’s All Things Considered. It’s called “My Unsung Hero,” and people describe encounters such as this.
I had to do the time figuring in reverse last Sunday when I attended a Zoom open mic from the UK.
I was very lucky, Merril, I can’t imagine how things might have been if I had had to wait the 40 minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive without her support, literally and spiritually…
A beautiful moment in a difficult situation. Glad you were okay.
Well done, my friend.
Thanks, Dwight, a moment that changes your life forever…
Goodness that must have been intense! Fortunately, you were able to get past those difficult moments with the nurse’s help 💙
It was intense but now the memory has a dreamlike quality – lovely to hear you read today, Sanaa…
I hope you weren’t too badly injured and am glad there was someone there to look after you. These lines reveal so much about you and the woman:
‘It seemed the most natural thing
in the world to feel the soft bare arm
of this woman, now invisible to me’
and
‘showing me how to put myself
in others’ hands, as I was now to do
for the next few months’.
I broke my hip but apart from a moment of intense pain when the firemen freed my foot from between the pedals – there was surprisingly little pain – mind you if you took all the discomfort over the years…
oh the necessity of touch!
and to be involved in kindness, giving or receiving or ambush, any means necessary
Thanks, Eric, had hoped we might see you this afternoon…
I loved hearing you read this poem at the live gathering. It is a special piece. The title is fantastic.
Can you tell me the name of the poem that you shared from the book? That was a great read as well.
Ali
Charlemagne and the Meeting of Saints Joachim and Ann at the Golden Gate by Paul Durcan from Give Me Your Hand, published by Macmillan – glad you enjoyed it – it helped me get back into writing poetry and certainly into ekphrastic poems. The other book is Crazy About Women
Great title, and a well written piece.
Thanks Christopher, I always worry that my poems in this style are a little prosaic…
How fortuitous a nurse was around to lend a helping hand and healing touch. I love poems that tell a story, Andrew.