behind every plan to bring her home. Like the burning bush
landmark on Tiger Mountain Road, she is a bright detail
withdrawn by the season and dismissed.

I tell her we should go back to where fireflies bumble
through the humid dusk and pierce the black barrel of evening,
which she will misconstrue as a healing allegory and reject

out of hand. (I must be careful with these provincial charms.)
Or she’ll agree for now, but will surely follow when chance
jerks its tired Palomino sideways and heads back west.

Selected byJordan Trethewey
Image credit:toan phan

Sara Clancy is a Philadelphia transplant to the Southwest.  Her chapbook Ghost Logic won the 2017 Turtle Island Quarterly Editors Choice Award and she is an Associate Editor for Poetry at Good Works Review. Among other places, her poems have appeared in Off the Coast, The Linnet's Wings, Crab Creek Review, The Madison Review, and Verse Wisconsin. She lives in the desert with her husband and daughter, their two dogs a cross-eyed cat and a 24 year old goldfish named Darryl.