Hands

I’ve always known

the closest we’ll ever be to the divine

is when using our hands.

Skin touching skin

with the sparks of a promise

Gaining friendship and trust

with a single gesture.

There is a reason why our hands can speak so clearly.

There is a reason why our souls dwell within our fingertips.

Even the future

waits in our palms

(In lines of love and longevity)

to be read by mystics and spirits.

In our hands lies creation.

Watch

My grandmother sewing socks for wanting feet

My aunt patting soil on a blooming rosemary bush

My mother braiding love into my hair

Surely, in these moments, 

those women were closer to a god

than any priest has ever been.