The Hand of God

Landed on the hand of God,
she acknowledges the knuckle bumps.
Dressed for the chill;
pink puffer jacket, pink skin,
contrasting with the deep velvet
blackness of space
—the colour scheme of afterlife
a fashionable look—
the edgy moon-rock hanging there
pink as a peach,
like a special polished button.
She ponders...
Is she to become another ring
on God's finger?
She must decide soon,
the keen scent of adventure pulls
—its tidal wash—
and she has her own rings,
safely insulated,
rubbing against the coins in her mitten,
to consider.