In a café, late at night
I wrote to you not long ago,
On one of those empty rain-slicked nights
Where the stars’ brilliance dissipates
Behind the neon lights of Soho.
It was at a café that opened late
And became one of those after-theatre bars,
While drunk on jazz-tinted candlelight
And the whisper of late-night memories
That only such an endless city can inspire –
Those passionate loves that spark and burn
Like the striking of a paper match.
And when at last those whispers stilled
And violet brush strokes woke the sky,
I tucked those naked words away
With all the letters I never send.
Smoke, Salt, and Stars
I once heard of
a love immune
to the ravages of time,
a single woven soul that burned
like golden fireworks against
a smokey, salty, starry sky.
But I’ve since learned
that all things have
their rhythms and their tides,
and when the tide recedes it takes
everything into the sea—
smoke, salt, and stars.
Perhaps one day
can paint the empty sky anew.
Fija Callaghan is a storyteller who writes poetry, love letters, and fiction that can be found in a range of literary journals and magazines in print and across the web. You might see her sitting in a café with a notebook, sunning on the docks of the Portobello canal, or looking out at the sea wondering what it would be like to have fins.