Hugh McGuire

 

There was a night when you showered,
And, smooth as a knife dropped
Point-first into water you slipped
Under the covers naked
While I read, you said:

"Keep reading," as your still
Damp skin traded heat
With the white sheets, and I could
Feel you breathing, but kept reading
The same line over and over,

Resolute: my aching fingers
Would not be the first
To stray across our borders.
And you, still as a firesouled stone
Were silent when I dropped

The useless book, and turned
Out the light, holding my breath
Till I felt that flat hand slide
Onto my belly. "What were you doing?"
You asked. "Waiting for you,"

I said. "What were you doing?"
I could feel you smile in
The dark Killybegs night, held between
The hard Atlantic and a stone-fenced Donegal hill:
"Counting," I heard you say in my ear, "to 100."