When I die, I will be a little girl again. 

I will be in my living room, asleep on the couch. 

My dad will pick me up, carry me to my bed, and I will wake up just enough to ask my mama to stay. 

She’ll say “Baby, I am right here” and slide under the blankets to hold me. 

When I die, it will be a purple night with flurries of snow coming down. 

I will smile with crooked teeth and hope for no school tomorrow. 

My mama will kiss me goodnight and hold my hand while my bones creak and sigh. 

She will lead me to death’s door and hug me one last time. 

When my daughter dies, she will be a little girl again. 

I’ll see her laughing outside on a warm summer's evening, sighing when I call her in. 

I will pick her up, carry her to her bed, and when I’m tucking her in she will ask me to stay. 

I’ll tell her, “Baby, I am right here” and slide under the blankets to hold her. 

When my daughter dies, I will kiss her goodnight and hold her one last time. 

When I die, I will want my mother. 

When my daughter dies, I know she will want hers.