An excerpt from Autobiography of a Marguerite by Zarah Butcher-McGunnigle
Read three excerpts from Autobiography of a Marguerite by Zarah Butcher-McGunnigle (April 2026), a new edition of the author’s acclaimed 2014 debut. An innovative book-length poem about chronic illness, familial dysfunction and the discovery of a sense of self, the book is published alongside Zarah Butcher-McGunnigle’s new collection, Leaves Fall Off to Create Drama.
Excerpt: p.6
My mother stands in the garden. She says, I can’t hear you. She says, is this a weed or not. The phone rings and it’s for my mother, but she won’t come inside, so I stand in for her. Is this a weed or not, she says, holding up the blistered plant.
We package ourselves to the doctor. I have symptoms, and what’s more, I have signs. What are your symptoms, the doctor asks me. Her symptoms are X, Y, Z, my mother answers.
Excerpt: p.7
(during the early afternoon) She was in the garden, inventing a harvest (corn, wheat), flooding, shaking, radius. (My sister needs glasses, my sister gets headaches, seizures.) Frowning camera. Jumping from the tree, self-timer. (Therefore I want glasses, seizures.) I get stomach pains if I am around people too long (a few hours). Hopeless natural waste kernel. Aggressive bird. What kind of pains do you get? Oak tree pains. (When I was a girl, I jumped from the oak tree repeatedly, trying to break a leg.)
Excerpt: p.18
Last time I was here I filled in a form, or maybe I filled it out. I hate forms. After last time, I formed an opinion. I cannot articulate the opinion, but I know I formed one. On a scale of one to ten, I can never just pick one number. On a scale of one to then. The doctor is looking at my form. I nod and smile when she says something I don’t hear. On the desk is a packet of ‘non-sterile’ latex gloves. She leans closer to me, pointing at the form. So, when rating your progress, from the choices of: quicker than expected, as expected, and slower than expected, you circled my progress is slower than I expected. Why did you circle that?
I don’t know. Because I’m still in pain, because I noticed improvement before and now I don’t? I look at my watch, but I’m not wearing a watch. The doctor says, Sure, but, is progress slower than you expected or slower than you hoped?
