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Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

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Frank Dullaghan

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Rain

When she came home I watched her for a sign -
A lightness in her walk perhaps or some
Reflection of remembered passion found

In her eyes those times she stared the window
Clear, gone where I could not follow, greying
The garden into dark, like someone else

Entirely. At night when her soft clothes pooled
The bedroom floor and light lay upon her,
My eyes devoured her, private detectives

Checking her for fingerprints; remnants
Of sweat not hers, not mine; another’s kiss.
Yet when she turned I could almost forgive

The way she took the hand of the young man
At that party, smiled, touched his arm and left
Him mesmerized, rigid with sudden lust.

How his gaze soaked into her dress like rain.
Alone now I stop beside the window
In the very place where she liked to stand,

Same time of day, same chill, same grey shadows
Laying themselves down, rose heads hanging,
Dark bushes congealing into rock, trees

Burnt into the cooling sky, and in my mind
A patch of earth turned over, newly sown,
The seeds waiting for the first touch of rain.

 

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