You had to be careful when Grandma
came at you for a hug. She was what
we called an enthusiastic hugger,
which was lovely in its way, but,

depending on her choice of jewelry
that day, you could end up with an
imprint in your chest thanks to
one of her stabby brooches.

No one would tell her this, of course,
but my sister and I would eye the
conglomeration of chunky gems
winking at us, pinned between

her collarbone and shoulder, to
see if we could weather the embrace
in such a way as to avoid the stabby
brooch, not something her two

youngest granddaughters generally
admired. So imagine my surprise
when cousin Pat recently presented
us with some of Grandma’s costume

jewelry, and I found myself chuckling
over the pieces shared with my sister
and niece. “You got a stabby brooch!”
I chortled when Lauren showed off

a 3-D circle the size of a small jar lid
crusted with layered purple bits
sure to pierce the chest of a beloved
hugged tight. I, too, got a semi-stabby

brooch doing an impression of linked
snowflakes gleaming in white rhinestones
and a delicate pearl choker, one clasp
hanging by a tired thread.

No matter. These are not for wearing.
They’re bejeweled portals back in time,
links to someone who loved us so much
that her crushing hugs left a permanent

impression far deeper than we ever
imagined.