She sags in the faded lawn chair,
bowing from years of use,
clutching her new grandson.
He gurgles and grins -
arched back and rubbery neck searching for her eyes.
One cracked hand cups his round belly,
cotton-covered and milk-filled.
The other hand propped upright as if on a flagpole,
wrist loose, waving a striped bib back and forth.
She looks nearly patriotic sitting there –
eyes wet, bib-flag in the wind.
Proud and mournful,
recalling countless battles won and lost.
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