An oak tree, perhaps, my
roots wiggling down into moist soil,
stretching into the earth’s shell for
the life hidden there. The mycelium
swaddling me with nutrients, while
my strong brown arms reach up to
heaven. I will provide shelter for
a million tiny insects. Ants will
form conquering armies around
my trunk. Caterpillars will
make tidy lines around my branches
waiting for their time to fly. I will
be mother to all of this life and I
will know that I am enough. The
sun will shine on me and I will
drink the rain. I will outlive kings
and never question my place in
all of this.