Seven years ago, after a nightmare weekend
spent recanting vows, undreaming dreams,
two dancers - tired of dancing, wary
of the heat of one another's breath,
we said goodbye at St Pancras.
I'd never felt so relieved, yet so sad
to see a train grumble away into the night
a one-time `everything' in its coach,
her Valentino fading by the minute
like the heat of the sun at dusk.
Today I spot her on a Stratford platform,
fully refurbished, as elegant as ever,
eyes shining like a headhunter's torch,
and tongue slicing at corners of her mouth
like flame from the mouth of a dragon.
I rise with laughter in my heart, drifting
towards the pull of her crystals, wild embers
frisking my body and my spirit for hints
of emotional violence, or resentment.
She reaps only pleasure and a warm hug.
It takes just ten minutes to download updates
that mutual friend gossip had not spilled,
then she walks away with the dreadlocked bloke
she loves now, until another seven years,
perhaps, at another London train station.
- Nnorom Azuonye
Copyright Nnorom Azuonye 2006
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