I S S U E 5

Seán Hewitt

I thought that I had woken
from the dream; but, stepping
into the stark light of the bathroom

I saw my father in the mirror
behind me and froze, clamped shut
my eyes and could not speak.

Two worlds overlaid. Whirring
of the extractor, white tiles—
the air somehow synthetic, as though

I might reach through it
and touch him. Then it was me
and not him who was gone—

the room all at once saying
who is it who is it and I
with no breath to answer.

A week later, I woke
dead on three a.m. This time
I was the ghost, this time

caught on the wrong side
of the dream. Somewhere,
in that other place,

all happiness, all peace—
the morning station where we met
in gold and filtered light.

I remembered the exact
weight of him, the warmth
of his cheek touching mine—

and now, locked out, I cried
at the foot of the bed, hit it
with my fist, tried to tear

my way back to him
as though I might—by force
of myself—go free.

Seán Hewitt was born in Warrington and works at Trinity College Dublin. His debut collection is Tongues of Fire (Cape, 2020).

‘Two Apparitions’ appears in the Autumn/Winter 2020 issue of Poetry Birmingham; you can buy the issue here.