Cosmology

In star time,
you have already been
parsley turning its curls to the sun
in someone’s backyard garden,
Mom.
Reconstitutions,
combinations.
You don’t remember
but you have been mother
before, and sister,
brother and father, child.
A light young bird,
you have flown, sun hot on your wings.
A plain lone bug,
you’ve died, small, unconsidered, in the rain.
Dust, fire, water, air.
Believe the scientists,
Mom.
Hold my hand.
The atoms in you–
you don’t remember
but you’ve been here
since the beginning.