by Annemarie Ní Churreáin
Here in the Indian foothills,
I share a house with a man from Greece
who speaks no English perfectly,
disappears for days on a motorbike,
leaves his laundry on the low make-shift line,
grieving an absent sun.
Side by side they hang: his shirt, my summer dress
as if they know each other well
and when he returns, smelling of engine oil,
monsoon, rolled brown cigarettes,
we have no formal language
to share our separate joy.
Drip-drip on the balcony,
a queer, white pool gathers below.
He holds at a sleeve, looks to sky.
I open my palm for signs of rain.
Annemarie completed an M. Phil in Creative Writing at the Oscar Wilde Centre, Trinity College Dublin. Her poems have been published widely in Ireland and the UK and have appeared in Poetry Ireland Review, Stinging Fly, The SHOP, The London Magazine, Agenda Magazine and The Morning Star. In 2011, she was short-listed for the UK Erbacce Poetry Prize. Annemarie lives in Dublin and is currently completing her first poetry collection. She is contactable at Creativeceardlann@gmail.com