My grandmother
asked. I was six years old
and thought she had met
Abraham Lincoln.

An old beach photo caught
her in sandy ankle boots
and cinched waist, her long
hair blowing free of its pins.

She had lost her husband
in France to shell shock
and later to God; her daughter
to a drunk on Halloween night.

She traded her corset
for a shirtwaist dress and sensible
shoes and by 70 she was all dried
rose petals and amethyst.

When she told me
a hatpin could be a lady’s
friend I was not old
enough to understand.

Selected byJordan Trethewey
Image credit:Anna Auza

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.