The speaker begins with a quiet, startling fact: their mother buried a child, and brought that child to a temple. The poem never says outright what this means, so the reader has to piece it together. The title, "Daughter," suggests the speaker may be that child, or at least a daughter standing in the place where the burial happened. That would explain the odd line "there I find myself," as if the speaker has come across their own grave, or their own absent past.
Then comes the strange turn: "though I am wholly glass." Glass is fragile, see-through, and cold. It might mean the speaker feels hollow or easily broken, or that they are visible but untouchable, a ghost of a person. The poem doesn't settle on one reading.
The mood is hushed and eerie, with grief held at arm's length. Short lines and plain words make the feeling seem more delicate, as though saying more might shatter it.