I remember the day my mother dropped
me off at kindergarten,
her lips pressed into a funny smile
that I know now was a trick
to stop her chin from quivering.

She’d never left me with a babysitter
but this was easier,
releasing me into a crowd
of scrambling affection.

No one could love me like she did
but there was power in numbers.

My friend’s mother died last night.
She got tinier and tinier
and then you couldn’t
see her anymore.

But she is there.
She is floating and waiting
until her daughter
is surrounded.

It’s a numbers game.
A mother’s devotion has no edges
but if we all press gently into her,
laugh with her,
hold her

somebody tuck her in tonight

her mother will see that the leak
in her daughter’s heart
is being sandbagged
with love.

She will smile
that funny smile
and whisper,

“Whenever it is windy
that is all the mothers
who have floated away,
looking in on their daughters
and blowing
them kisses.”