Today, the wind blew a Tesco bag up.
It bounced along, lazy, until it was out of view. The grass shivered,
the leaves rattled – but the daisy didn’t make a sound.
Didn’t even move.

A good daisy, being about the size of a big toe, always
looks like it’s on the verge of falling over. Plucking it
up, I couldn’t feel the stalks’ tiny hairs. It hung limp.
The stalk’s green, unbeknownst to me,
crept up under the yellow puffs of pollen and peeked
out between the petals. I understood that its refusal
of life had rendered it comatose; in a doze it would never shake.

In the breeze’s break, the leaves huddled. They whispered
that the daisy only knows what it doesn’t want. It stands
there, mute and unmoving.
People rush ahead without it.

About the author

Gabby Marsh is a writer studying English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Manchester, currently in their second year. So far they’ve had one short story, ‘Moved’ published in Horla Magazine and a poem ‘When Nothing is Said and Done’ published in Impspired.

Photo by Kristine Cinate on Unsplash.