a photo from Rota, Spain, 1963

by Taylor Thackaberry

Never knew my grandmother

when she wore those 

trajes de flamenco, 

full, flowing skirts,

rings on each finger, 

clack clack clink

With each turn of the wrist.

Flush with wine, 

Swinging side to side

with her husband

on the coast of Spain.

We cleared her house 

In Sarasota, Florida

and found the rings in a box

with the photograph. 

My sister and I 

took turns picking out

our favorites, 

cobalt, ruby, amethyst 

slipping them on our hands

and inspecting them in the light. 

Grandma watched from the corner

Bright scarves draped 

on the arms of her wheelchair

as we twirled and danced

our own rat-tat-tat

flamenco dance, 

Wrists flicking 

flick-flick, click-clack,

while her hands tremored

like they remembered

how they made that dance

come alive.

Taylor Thackaberry is a software engineer and writer from Seattle, Washington, and balances her love of science fiction with the gut-wrenching fear that as an engineer, she might one day have to build something from science fiction. Her work has appeared in the Summerset Review, Voyage YA, The Red Cedar Review, and Silhouette Magazine, and her poetry was longlisted for the Steger Poetry Prize.