The Amputation

A poem

What was it I had done
that led to this? My arms
were severed at the joint,
scabbing but still bloody.
"I thank you," I began,
"I thank you all, who come
to watch, and maybe mock
a little, too." For who
can keep ridicule in
his heart, and bear his own
diminishment, but one
who moves, though slowly,
toward God?