Daisy is my girl,
but she is gone.
One day,
her heart desired
a well-earned rest,
so her skin turned pale
and her limbs grew still—
like mine.
As I looked up at her in bed,
I saw that her eyes were like mine,
too.
Ever looking onwards,
quiet, frosted glass.

I’d always felt quite strongly
that Daisy’s maker had done
a beautiful job on her.
Her mother had designed
the most wonderful lips
with gentle curves, a cherub’s bow,
pink and pretty.
Her father had wefted the most
wonderful, springy curls
that sat like silk
atop her head.
Both of them had sewn her up
in bows and dainty pearls,
and often times,
I got to match.
How lucky I was back then!

I waited for her to play with me
again,
but her alabaster hands
never moved.
I was patient,
for I loved her most dearly,
and knew of our mutual
weakness.
I knew she was fragile
like an automaton
of bisque and clockwork,
clanking away
on a music box.

You might think a girl like me
would long for the life
of an automaton,
but no,
I never did.
They sparked and moved
with the twist of a copper key,
but only ever
for a little while.
Inevitably,
the clock parts would always fail.
Daisy was no different,
I suppose.

They pried me from her arms,
sobbing and wailing
above the bed.
My porcelain teeth all rattled,
no words escaping my mouth.
I could not speak,
but when Daisy’s heart
went to sleep,
I wished for but a sound.
I could not tell them
to put me back,
to let me rest
beside my girl.

I would go with her if I could.
I am sure she sits
in great impatience,
waiting for me to arrive
at her latest garden tea.
She would be the same as she’d been,
only brighter
and fresh from the box,
as I’d once been.
A princess
in blue eyelets,
laughing out white petals.

We would have been happy together
and I’d have waited
with her until
her parents joined us,
too.
Can you hear me,
Frau Hoffstein?
You must turn back the clock
and send me from this earth,
alongside
your precious Daisy!

I could have been her
chaperone,
keeping care over
chokolade and scones
forever.
For as long as her
dancing mind desired.
Even if she left to play
with the other girls,
who could run and leap
and twirl,
so much unlike me,
I’d still smile on
in gratitude,
that she would still be
mine.

But her mother
locked me up instead,
tossed into the...