I find the amputee's room. The old woman is busy gluing an orange ring of florets onto the center of a giant sunflower cut from paper. Pinned to the white wall next to her bed, larger than life cutouts of tulips and daisies—reds and yellows flourishing alongside white chrysanthemums.
in the meadow
“Do you know the old proverb,” I ask, “when you can put your foot on seven daisies summer has come?”
Without looking up, she passes me a roll of tape, asks if I would please hang the sunflower on her door. Scissors in hand, she is already cutting another.
collage . . .
faces of the sun
by Tish Davis