EABHAN NÍ SHUILEABHÁIN
HEADLIGHTS
The first time I noticed you
you were hanging around, looking down
at the action from the cafe balcony
and noticing me, interested in what
I was doing, all this reading--
You were young,
all deep-eyed nervous stillness, and fine-limbed,
like a young deer
waiting to be caught in the headlights
wanting that excitement of almost getting caught--
You became obvious to me,
your badly hidden curiosity
revealing you glancing over too often
I started to look for you
to notice you as a person, I could feel your intensity
watched how you stood, your muscles twitching to run
but your brain and heart keeping you still.
One evening, months later, I sat and scanned
till I found you, teaching young ones,
and kept glancing, finding you watching me as often--
but then, once, I looked up and you didn’t look away
kept your eyes locked on mine,
beyond my look away and back
and look away again and back--
You were breaking the rules, scaring me
so I kept my head down, careful now--
and then later on you walked right by me
as if I didn’t exist
and a part of me
applauded--
I checked you out then, using technology to find you
and found a young boy shoring himself up
with the tiles of others’ words, showing everyone
how hard it is to keep himself intact
with everything that has already happened
letting wise words and tips and mottos bandage up
the damage,
revealing how his past hurts
still haunt him, still bind him
drive him to look for inappropriate love
revealing himself in ways he was unconscious of--
Such a strong young stag, forever caught
in headlights, forever testing could he get away,
always choosing someone he knew he could escape.
And though I longed to play the game,
to feel again the overwhelming urgency, the drive
to lose myself and all my problems, disappointments, hurts
in the luxury of another
--and such a beautiful other--
I knew it would not help either one of us.
And now, years later, we are back
still instantly aware though acting as if not,
still drawn to dance around and then draw back
You, though older, are still too young and I am still not free
I am older still, and greyer, still more tired
and more lonely and the strength I had before
has dwindled now, leaving me the weaker one
the hare caught in headlights, longing for the hit.
Eabhan Ní Shuileabháin hates writing bios. She has moved around a lot and learned young the value of being an outsider. She has been published in a range of journals in Europe, America and Australia, most recently The Atlanta Review in the US and The Places of Poetry Anthology in the UK.