Washing the Streets of Holland

Jane Shore

1996

When I was twelve, I read The Diary of Anne Frank.
I identified with her having to live
stories above a busy street
over a business, and having to keep quiet
for hours at a time.
I’d pad about on tiptoe,
trying not to disturb the customers
shopping in my parents’ dress store below,
their voices drifting up through the floorboards.
I’d pretend I…
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