Burning Hands

Both of my hands are wrapped in bandages.
I don’t know why I held them over the fire.
It didn’t hurt at first. Then, it hurt. A lot.
The skin and nerves are gone from what muscle and bone remains.
I can’t tell how many fingers I have left. The bandages keep me from seeing them.
When they change the bandages, they won’t let me see.
“You do not want to see them yet,” the nurse says.
She puts another pill in my mouth, holds up a cup with a straw, and says everything will be fine.
And I sleep.