She feeds the strays,
patches their broken fur and wings,
sits in the dirt so they aren’t alone.
They all leave lighter—
tails high, eyes clearer—
while she stays behind,
hands still aching from the weight.
No one asks if the healer hurts.
No one sees the limp in her step,
the way her own ribs rattle in the dark.
She waits,
like one of her strays,
for a hand to reach out
and call her home.