His grandmother snipped the wild
pink tea roses for my corsage
from the bush by the gravel
driveway, blocked from the view
of the rolling sea by the low airy
house, removed the thorns and
twined the twiggy stems together
with a satin ribbon to be secured
to my wrist that evening.
My neighbor picked up my worn
white pumps, freshly heeled
by the cobbler in his dark shop
two towns over who gave her
tow-headed twins each a lollipop,
and my mother made it home
from her trip, an emergency
I cannot recall, in time to hem
my lavender dress bought at cut
rate in Boston, at Filene’s Basement
where I bought my prom dresses
until I learned to make my own.
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Ann E. Wallace is very thrilled that her first poetry collection Counting by Sevens is forthcoming from Main Street Rag in 2019. You can find her previously published poems and creative essays online at AnnWallacePhD.com or follow her on Twitter.