When I split myself open
You reached a steady hand
Into a garden overgrown
With briars and stillborn blooms,
Plucking them away
With loving fingers,
Ignoring the wounds
That came from tending to me

Once every wilted vine
Had been cleared
From a trellis made of bones
You began plucking
Even the smallest of thorns
From my punctured heart,
Planting new seeds
In the holes left behind

Then you took my trembling hands
Into your bloodied palms
And showed me how to  
Make a garden grow

©FaerieFoxPoetry