Your scissors flew
ripping all in their path. Inches
and inches of stitches, tied off like butterflies,
the ends going nowhere.

Each one neatly ravelled
as you pulled and sliced at it.
The tapestry pattern that travelled
your leg from ankle to groin

was impressive to my young eye.
The doctor was shocked
as he tried to stop you, but
you were vehement.

They had ‘done’ your veins,
cut and snipped them
turned them inside out.
A tailor’s dummy,

you said you wanted to reclaim
the seams that carry the blood
back to the heart.