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   c r i m e

--- A M Y   H O L M A N

That house was a place to put us. Who would know how
to complain amid graceful dunes and ocean waves?
We hardly ever saw him in the summers,
and she was more and more afraid. Slim, stylish, they
held hands on the beach, argued all night, were younger
than everyone. That house burned to the ground, and none of us
are together, now. But look at this photograph of my parents
waltzing to rock & roll in their bathing suits. Her light blue
turban towel and cigarette, his strange smile and sideburns.
Who are you, what is your name? Dad and Mom were beautiful,
like Alan Alda and Jane Fonda, and they wanted to be the young ones.

© crossconnect 1995-2001 |
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |