Joan Byrne
First scan
There you are—at 12-weeks’ gestation—
relaxing in a gossamer hammock afloat
a sandy-coloured lagoon. Tahiti of the womb.
Though small as the palm of my hand,
amazingly, you have a face! A nose,
high forehead, a scribble of lips.
I impute a smile. I have fallen for you.
Months will pass, and winter with it,
before you emerge to breathe
new life into an old world. Welcome,
I will say, I am your mother’s mother.
I am thrilled to meet you!
