DIARMUID CAWLEY

Roses

Your poor sister, whose name
is close to your own, had to wait
in the corridor outside that dingy
hotel room. Lisbon thrummed
in dense summer heat, afternoon
light bulging against shutters—
our sex fierce and starving,
sweat clawed our skin in seconds,
time slowed your aching lungs.
The battle between shame and need
knowing your sister was slouched
outside hearing the cheap bed groan
in rhythm. Even now I laugh and cringe
in equal measure at that passionate,
desperate act that couldn’t wait.

Diarmuid Cawley is from Sligo, Ireland. His writing evokes the environment, memory, place and history, and often includes food related themes. He is widely published in journals there and is published in the UK and US also. He is working on his first collection.