By Sara Hirsch
step sneers at invasion of litter dusted across her premises. Coffee cup lid, white, plump as full fat, teases, hovers, unwanted on granite. Coffee lid once had coffee cup to keep her safe. Now coffee cup hangs out with hipsters and the streets are cruel. Lid misses lips that kiss good morning. Sleepy, sweetened by coffee cup’s gift. This is an imagined memory. Could have been different. Tea, perhaps
smack of tyre on tarmac. Chalton Street, NW1. Graffiti street sign and playground building site. Basketball hoop flies netless, naked. Floodlights off and dustbin bagless. Loose leaves scattered where young trainered feet once did. Reminds me of leftovers. Railings cracked, broken bridges, council estate symptoms. Someone I haven’t seen in a while
the curve of the column smeared grey from the gloom and smog. The cathedral, domed. Keeps the city out. London creeps up to the doorstep. Lays its head to the ground and kisses the feet of the church. Old before his time; Paul is baffled by the buses and sushi restaurants. He prefers this time of year. When the lights shine dimly towards winter and the air is colder and more grateful against the gates
Sara Hirsch is a London-grown poet, currently on loan to New Zealand. She has two full-length poetry collections published with Burning Eye Books, has had her work featured in Salient Magazine and The EAL Academic Journal and has poems published in anthologies with The Emma Press, Groundation and Burning Eye. Sara is currently working internationally as a spoken word educator, co-running a new production company 'Motif Poetry' and attempting to dismantle the patriarchy, one poem at a time