Yarrow by Sophie Dumont

Yarrow

Achillea millefolium: Named after Achilles of Greek myth, who used it to treat the wounds of soldiers, yarrow soothes skin and stems bleeding when crushed and applied.

On Father’s Day, we picked yarrow – 

feathery grey-green leaves under 

a heavy head of terminal clusters.

Tiny bright flowers form a dome 

the size of a cupped hand. 

We pushed it into a milk bottle, 

placed it at the centre of his table.

Helpless, we want the dementia 

to show itself as a wound, 

to see the blood of it, stem its spread.

As the petals dried and dropped

in white dust on the table, 

something reached far back into him – 

he spoke of a blue duffle coat 

he had as a child, the itch of its hood,

the train set he got that Christmas, 

how it snowed in clumps of white quiet.

His memory of this morning, 

picking yarrow, is as thin as a petal – 

a snowflake melting as it falls, and I am 

the girl at the window, hoping it will settle.

Sophie Dumont (she/her) is a Bristol-based copywriter for an education charity, poet and editor. Her poetry won the Brian Dempsey Memorial Prize and has been published widely, including in The Rialto, Magma, The Moth, Anthropocene, Ink Sweat and Tears, Under the Radar and Banshee. Her debut poetry collection will be published in October 2025 by Corsair. Find her on Instagram @sophie_dumont or peruse her website: sophiedumont.co.uk