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Thirteen Myrtle Street, Hoxton
Derrick Porter
Doors and floorboards
uprooted for the fire;
the widening gaps
we had to leap across
to reach the parlour,
and the sudden silence
if a door handle turned.
Mice loved that house,
living in the backs of chairs
or behind the butler sink,
their footprints cut neatly
through the cold fat
in the frying pan… like a grave
crossed after snowfall.
When light finally entered
the house, it was through
the holes in the roof where
the slates had been;
and after it was bulldozed
the street disappeared
from the maps.
Derrick Porter grew up in Hoxton, London. His work has been published by Magma, Acumen, Interpreter House, Brittle Star, Poetry Review and elsewhere. This poem is taken from his new book Voices of Hoxton, launched by Thamesis next week. More information: http://bit.do/voiceshoxton
Well Versed is edited by Jody Porter – wveditor@gmail.com
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