N O V E M B E R 1 9 9 3
FOR THE TAKINGby Linda Gregerson
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And always, the damp blonde curls
on her temples
and bountifully down to her shoulder blades,
the rich loose curls all summer mixed with sand
curve of her nether lip -- most children lose
which betokens thought and, alas
of the jaw, and the peeling brown shoulders --
was his sweet piece of luck, his
and my brown-and-golden sister at eight-
in her bath, and this was years,
in the basement where he kept his guns,
what it was in the best of times
encumbered to the body on the
or basting the spareribs right
were deaf and blind
take care of us, and she has,
Copyright © 1993 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
The Atlantic Monthly; November 1993; For the Taking; Volume 272, No. 5; page 132.