A 100 years ago, 5 generations 

Of broken, shredded, bloodied veils,

Leaving hope in their trails 

My mother, my grandmother, 

Her mother, her grandmother, 

And another, that we no longer remember, 

In embers of my dreams, 

I see her sometimes

It rhymes 

Our suffering

The unwavering, unending flow of time 

Ties me to their crimes

Decade to decade we clip the thorns

Slip the wings

On to the next one 

After me, 

She will fly.