Surrounded by such grave flowers,
you hang your head but not in shame,
exuding a toxic kind of guilt.
Imagined insults pour from your lips
into a paralysing pool of lies.
You love it, don’t you?
The daffodils can’t look you in the eye,
an unwilling congregation.
Like cowed nuns they shuffle in the breeze,
lingering against common sense.
They cannot stop you but cannot leave–
holding to their sacred vow.
Technicolor blooms trembling in your midst
as you stand transfixed.
Their fluorescent yellows your favourite lightning.
Your bulbous reflection,
an inescapable trap. Inevitable–
you fade away, to mulch.
Nothing but an echo remains.
Kirsty Niven is a poet based in Dundee, Scotland and has previously been published in a number of anthologies, magazines, and several online sites. “With regards to my female identity informing my work, I would have to say it influences my work quite deeply – particularly in the case of ‘Mother Narcissa’ which looks at a toxic maternal relationship.”