Are they our hands?

Anecdotes are worth more than statistics.
A large hot chocolate with almond milk
snakes its way through my small intestines.
The silver-coated canvas stares at me
black outlines of fingers reaching for each other
I painted them.
the colors fermenting in the palette
are still wet
invite me to paint my future

Whole

I am a lone empress
a tall oak
whose roots are connected to the burning core of the earth
seething with enough energy
to crumble the strongest human-made foundation.

Cut down my branches
burn them
strip off my leaves
chill me with a perpetual winter

I will grow back.
Standing on the shoulders of Ceres, Lakshmi, the Virgin Mary,
I will offer you shade,
delicious shade,
in the heat of the summer
even as you destroy me.