At age 14, I hauled alfalfa hay
for a big bay mare, mucked
her stall while a Philco radio back
in the tack room blew a hurricane
for us both. It was the year when
sound was an ocean of drums,

we would wade into its grinding
tide and dive under its blue curl
of words. Or we’d sail to Nassau Town
with that belligerent grandfather
and know, even then, that we would
both make it all the way back

home. Me and my garlanded girl
could grab a guy, prance right
into the streets of Philadelphia, PA,
her mane braided with Morroccan
beads and my voice stuck in cracks
between the decades.

Back then you never knew
if you should follow the piper
or the preacher’s son. Remember
how the air was so full of music
you could hardly breathe?

Selected byNolcha Fox
Image credit:Donald Giannatti

Sara Clancy is a Philadelphia transplant to the Southwest.  Her chapbook Ghost Logic won the 2017 Turtle Island Quarterly Editors Choice Award. Among other places, her poems have appeared in Off the Coast, The Linnet's Wings, Crab Creek Review, The Madison Review, Misfit Magazine, Avatar Review and Verse Wisconsin. She lives in the desert with her husband, their dog, two ordinary cats and a psychotic cross-eyed one.