Lying Awake with the Windows Open - Poem

   After you left I heard car doors closing
   across the river in Lafayette.
   I heard crickets like ratchets, I heard
   footsteps coming softly up the street
   and down the street and through all
   the alleyways. I heard shiny green
   leaves load with raindrops and spill.
   I heard the town grumble deep in its throat.
   I heard darkness congregating in clumps
   like infantry at ease, the nervous gear-shifts
   of drivers circling for cigarettes.
   I heard email arriving like an elevator
   at the right floor. I heard insects
   colliding against furniture, the din
   of the drowsing house. I heard
   my own careful breathing, the sky
   opening out above Fort Ouiatenon,
   the scraping of trees against air.

Mairead Byrne has written two plays, two books of interviews with Irish painters, and many articles and poems

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