Dandelion Weed
A bitter blossom breathes in the breeze, pulling in a wretched wheeze
where they are not desired. Weak roots reach, aching, below the surface
of a cracked sidewalk in disrepair. Persistent roots that crawl laboured
towards birdsong and sun and wind and the fireflies’ flickering flight
A bitter blossom communicates with the decay hidden away in the cellar.
Desperate roots connect below in the dark, in the bed-rot, in the budding
of a collective crushed underfoot. Careless teeth gnash on the morels and
morsels we name kind-wisdom, Spit out the crushed seed onto a platter.
Fail to cultivate growth-wisdom – like the caress of fingers
digging into dirt, cool against skin – and tend to the mother.
The bitter blossom fights through harsh concrete to establish existence
in the dirt, lay out their roots and reach towards themself. The bitter
blossom sways in the windsong and whispers prayer to sun and rain,
“This world wishes not for my existence.
The concrete and ignorant footfall
show a welcome to life that only promises death,
How can I go on?”
The sun flares and sears the petal-skin of a bitter blossom,
“Seek not an acceptance of predetermination, but scream with heat that you are deserving”
The rain floats gently to pepper the bitter blossom’s head and spoke slow,
“Scream and thrash for your worth, and then come back to the caress and care.
Sit in my arms and let yourself rest in the upturn of a smiling flower.”