Image by David Perkins

WHIMSY

the madrigal, volume iii

Death's Head

by b. pick

A moth flies into my kitchen,
Broken tiles overcome with the rot of

A broken radiator or dead ladybugs.

It’s the coldest room in the house;
Regardless of which old wives’ tale is published

In the local paper.

The headline reads:
‘Love is stored here and it can’t
be preserved at room temperature.’

Jam or jelly might disprove this thesis --

It won’t matter; there’s wings in every jar.

b. pick is a lesbian poet and creative non-fiction author based in small town Canada. They are an English student at Western University, where they work as Opinions Editor for the Western Gazette. Their work has most recently appeared in SAPPHIC, Second Chance Lit, and Grubstreet Journal, among others. When they're not writing, b. is an earring maker, a mom friend, and lover of all things pink. They can be found offline cuddled up with their French Bulldog, Colette, and a cup of herbal tea, or on Twitter at @_bpick.