This poem is taken from PN Review 151, Volume 29 Number 5, May - June 2003.
Six PoemsThe Street of Small Houses
Wooden booths, just big enough for one,
leaned close on a street stifled
with caraway, saffron, aniseed.
The old men pattered out on their errands
for food and firewood in the peppery air,
sneezing. They were foreigners, clerks
to the spice merchants, settled
among strangers who slowly turned
into neighbours. They went shopping
for small amounts. The city forbade them
marriage: they might live
and trade, but leave no mark.
On the Street of Small Houses
windows were paned
with horn or skin: scant outlook
...
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