You Are Your Mother’s Daughter

When death becomes the first breath

you breathe at birth,

when your throat becomes familiar with its stings


when death writes your obituary into lullabies

and sings them to you

in the voice of a Maya Angelou


when death approaches you with a sickle in his hand

and tries to begowk you


Tell him…

that you own sickles too,

‘a thousand sickles in your cells is better than one at hand’


Do not let death scare you

you are your mother’s daughter.