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107 (was it “post-colonial”?) ———————————— Beach Photos I’m interested in the strip of mineral light around family slides of everybody on the same towel. (We are given families we sometimes don’t recognize. They stay as “subject matter” stays with us even after we have punched a hole in about.) On the southern beaches of Brazil my brothers hunted little frogs— sapinhos—in the blind spots of time . . . They (we) were glad; families later disagree on who was glad. Development nearly flattens the fifties. Time is warm and sweet. Our mother’s body attracts most attention on the beach with her white and strawberry suit; I who have feared outline swell to contain her, write about her though about has a hole in it . . . What does it mean for a country to be “on its feet”? Possibly the sand washed down from Sugar Loaf Mountain and lay at our feet . . . When I see the grainy surface of a screen before the slides are shown I have the urge to eat it— ...

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