Through a mist of tears
she admires her grandson’s 
tiny, perfect, grasping
fist. Making a cradle of her arms 
she rocks him 
singing a snatch 
of a half-forgotten lullaby
rife with bland, innocent imagery
not the stuff of nightmares, surely
something her own mother taught her
half a galaxy away
the way things are handed down
through generations.
She knows, now, 
that some things come unbidden
though from this angle
you can’t really see
what is sprouting 
from the newborn’s back
besides, she should be happy,
she tells herself,
to know that her descendants
will fly
someday.

Lisa Timpf is a retired HR and communications professional who lives in Simcoe, Ontario. Her speculative poetry has appeared in New Myths, Star*Line, Triangulation: Seven-Day Weekend, Polar Borealis, and other venues. Her collection of speculative haibun poetry, In Days to Come, is available from Hiraeth Publishing. You can find out more about Lisa’s writing projects at http://lisatimpf.blogspot.com/.