My back breaks, a few
vertebrae from the bottom.
Arms go knuckles fuse legs snap
my blood is now sap.
Limbs expand up and out
leaves sprout from my
fingertips dewy hilltop grass tickles
my bark.
Groggy.
Aching.
Head clearing of death.
I
am awake
and cold.
I
stretch toward
the full moon.
The roots
let me see more clearly
than I did
while alive.
Zachary Dein Reisch writes speculative fiction in Boston, Massachusetts. His work has appeared in AntipodeanSF, CommuterLit, and several publications on Medium.