You cut off my hands
You broke my brittle, blackened body to bits, searching
The hands of a healer.

I felt nothing.

The nerve endings no longer crawled with static
Worms dried out in the sun
Lumpy, hollowed tunnels where the monarchs would fly
Now concave, the ceiling falling in, my spirit in disrepair

You grounded me
When you had every reason to bury my remains
But what little life I had took root, worked its way around your wrists
Lazily laced the veins in your arms with the vines

Months to nurse me back to health
Now
Flourishing after the fire.