Necromancer.

You see her through the window—

hair in a knot,

sleeves sagging over her palms,

a mug steaming like a small ghost at her elbow.

She's surrounded by things of the past.

What others have deemed 

broken, worthless, and just too far gone.

On the desk, bones;

Not eerie, not cold.

They glow, somehow,

under her hands that reassemble

what the world has thrown away.

Another stray to be resurrected 

with her touch, finding their forever home.

The room harbors an army of revivals:

lamps humming again,

bugs preserved in amber warmth,

a chair whose legs had given out

now carrying her weight.

She's a jack of all trades,

a haphazard mix of tools and skills

build her skeletal core while

compassion and empathy

flesh out the rest of her.

She can bring the light back

to anything—

furniture, friends, forgotten things.

Anything but herself.