The night of my fourth third-eye pimple
it was a full moon.
I took a long bus through Eltham Common
past the barracks, to Woolwich.
Sometimes portals are a place
and sometimes they are a time
and that Guy Fawkes was the opening night
the door
the artery to a coronary rebirth.
I skipped dinner and the Thameswind
cut through my leather jacket
made me shiver while I stood, trying
to videotape the fireworks
going off down by the river terraces
and over the Tesco on Love Lane.
My heart was shattered glass
and when your face appeared
on my phone, sultry eyes behind Art
soft and asking
for
just a look
I was standing in the homeland of your football club when I didn’t know that I knew that this would change everything.
Megan Eaves-Egenes 