Grandmother’s hairpin – Signe Maene

Grandmother’s hairpin

You gave it to last night,
you said it was time to let that
crystal hairpin go. With the
flowery, fake pearls,
like your shiny earrings,
the kind that I dislike.

You wore it when you
first met him.
Sleet descending on a
shared umbrella,
splitting a biscuit in two.
Awaiting a bus that
never came.

You wore it when you
finally left him.
Afternoon tea in the garden,
broken glasses and a
flying breadbasket,
falling in common ivy.

I force myself to try it on,
and I can see myself.
Drawing at the kitchen table,
the smell of organic carrot soup,
something glittering in your hair,
your smile.

I think I like it better now.

Signe Maene is from Belgium where she lives in Ghent. She studies English literature.

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