Those Spiky Suns

dande

How I loved those spiky suns,   
rooted stubborn as childhood   
in the grass, tough as the farmer’s   
big-headed children—the mats   
of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe.   
How sturdy they were and how   
slowly they turned themselves   
into galaxies, domes of ghost stars   
barely visible by day, pale   
cerebrums clinging to life   
on tough green stems.   Like you.   
Like you, in the end.   If you were here,   
I’d pluck this trembling globe to show   
how beautiful a thing can be   
a breath will tear away.  
~Jean Nordhaus “A Dandelion for My Mother”
The lawn is filled with them now
yellow spots in carpeted green
closed tight at night,
in the morning,
opening as miniature reflections
of the real dawn.
Growing up, paid ten cents per dandelion
I dug up each long offending root,
restoring the blemished green
to pristine perfection;
no more yellow splotches
unruly stems
blow away ghosts
releasing scores of
seedy offspring.
But it didn’t last.
The perfect lawn
like the perfect life~
unbesmirched~
isn’t possible.
The hardy seeds of trouble
float innocently on the breeze
or lie hidden deep in our soil
ready to spring up overnight
and overtake us.
Maybe that is our fear
of those little spunky spiky suns:
their cheerful glow
belies their pernicious
tendency to own us,
heart and soul.
puffball

2 thoughts on “Those Spiky Suns

  1. Great comment, Emily. The first thought that came to mind was the pernicious effect of sin upon our soul.

    Beautiful pic. Never realized such a common (sometimes annoying) ‘flower’ could be go grand – up close and personal.

    Like

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