They say, the dying are greeted, by their mothers
She comes for them at the end
Her love reaching further than bookends
Loving before, when you’re but an idea
A single cluster of cells,
Pregnantly waiting,
For birth
You came into the world quickly,
Precariously, the way you moved in life
Your pace blazing—light speed
A glow that burned from the beginning
You were likely, the first person I ever held,
Me being too little to hold onto anything much bigger
But of course I adored you right away,
Right from when I first held you,
You made more than a daughter
You left the world quickly too,
during the month the sun burns the hottest,
August sweeping you into the air.
So I wonder, who came for you?
What I like to imagine,
and most desperately hope,
Is that you were greeted by a softness
A loving net cast by our grandmothers
Rocking you slowly
Pulling you back into our linage