Denise Duhamel
In my previously published poems, I’ve referred to the Hollywood Broadwalk
as the Hollywood “Boardwalk.” I gave in when a magazine editor
first discouraged “broadwalk,” writing, “Broadwalk has no English definition,
Denise. It may be misspelled. Do you mean boardwalk?” It is always warm
in these poems—it’s Florida after all. Florida, not California, home
to the more famous Hollywood. Now there is a sign on my walk that reads
“It’s Broadwalk, not Boardwalk!” trying to make this particular promenade
in Hollywood unique. When I first moved here, I heard more than one man
make the same crass joke—it’s the broadwalk because you can look at the broads
in bikinis. You will not find me in any bikini or under the boardwalk,
like in the Drifters’ song. The Hollywood Broadwalk, built in the 1920s,
is a pedestrian boulevard made of cement, not wooden boards. I should have
made that clearer in my poems from the start, trusted readers would understand.
I doubted myself because of my Rhode Island accent, putting “R’s” into words
where there are none. To this day I have to think an extra few seconds
to figure out if I mean “brought” or “bought.” I bought an apartment
when I moved to Hollywood twenty years ago. I brought all my hopes
of a writing life. I still I love to bury my feet in the sand. On a blanket
with my baby—that’s where you’ll find me.