[I told Mark he did something on Easter this year that meant so much to me, and when he asked me to explain it, I didn’t have the words: it took me a couple months and I finally wrote it down tonight.]
The dandelion was my first favorite flower
Because how’s a five-year-old to tell
Which ones are weeds and
Which ones are worth waiting for
When nature throws them all together
And it’s only the humans who separate them out
.
I couldn’t’ve cared less about classification,
Didn’t know how to classify,
But I knew Montana winters
And what signaled their closure:
Dandelions.
.
Harbinger of spring
Sunburst through sidewalk cracks
Nature making good on her promise that
The sun would shine again in ways that
Didn’t have to melt ice off windows
Or unthaw the streets
.
I’d almost apologize to a pack of them
When I’d pluck one from their bunch come spring
But they were just too good
To be keeping to themselves like that
And I wanted to carry the next season with me
.
On extravagant days I’d bundle my hopes in both hands,
And, pollen-knuckled,
Offer the color of joy
To those I loved
.
Did that the first and last time to a relative
Who threw them down soon as I let go:
“These are weeds,”
He said and walked away.
.
I stood still staring down at my flowers
Mangled and misnamed
Not knowing all that was going on inside him
Not knowing how someone couldn’t see hope
.
Kids can’t separate people from issues
So throwing them down
Threw me down, too
But I didn’t know how to throw back yet
So I kept giving
.
I’ll never forget that first fridge feeling
That I never got when my drawing didn’t make it
On his fridge
Because “it’s just a copy” of my cousin’s art
That made it under the magnet
.
Okay, so I wasn’t artist enough
Nor florist enough but
What kid’s a connoisseur
Of the finer petals in life:
My parents didn’t own a greenhouse, okay?
.
I’ve come to learn that
Dandelions technically aren’t even weeds, sir,
So science wasn’t factoring into that 64-year-old heart
Though that’s not even the point
It’s the principle of the throw-down
That teaches you to either wear your heart
Or mislabel it and decide it wasn’t worth the display
After all
But more flowers and more springtimes
Grow over the weeds of others-inflicted self-doubt
And make it easier over time to try giving again
With the same hopes to new people
And on an Easter walk this year
To look at the lakes and lilies
I bent down again
With five-year-old grace
And scooped up the biggest dandelion I saw
Offering it to Mark with a cheesy grin
That hid the sincerity
That I never got over in kindergarten
But he accepted
And in a goofy gesture, told me to place it
Behind his ear and he wore it
Even when the neighbor saw his headwear
And laughed
And he laughed
And they laughed
And I turned my back so I could cry
Because everyone celebrated my
Dandelion
For the first time.