Poetry by b. pick
Effeuiller la Marguerite
She loves me, she loves me not,
Time will only tell as she pluck-pluck-plucks away my petals.
Her fingers soft, frail, and long, dipping into peachy flesh,
Her thumbprints accidentally creasing a gentle indigo into my fragile layers.
She seems to overthink the simplest of transactions,
She [plucks] me, she [plucks] me not,
But I keep growing new appendages
To delay inevitable utterances.
I’ll keep singing this nursery rhyme,
She [plucks] me, she loves me not,
Until I learn to photosynthesize her warmth
Into sweetness on my tongue.
She loves me, she [plucks] me not,
A final petal falls, her cheeks fall whiter than the daisy she’s stripped.
b. pick is a lesbian poet and creative non-fiction author based in small town Canada. They are an Hon. BA English and Cultural Studies candidate at Western University, where they work as a copy editor for the Western Gazette. Their work has most recently appeared in SAPPHIC, Tipping the Scales, and Grubstreet Journal. You can find them on Twitter at @_bpick.