Dandelion

you ask me who i am 

what’s my story

everyone has one you say

what's yours 

we are sitting on a bench in the middle of a park 

the grass is green 

taken care of 

the sun is shining 

flowers blooming 

the sky blue 

clouds on the horizon, glooming 

and i tell you…

the way i love the city 

the buildings 

the sunset 

i think it’s pretty 

but also the beach 

the horizon 

the calmness of the waves 

the way i feel at the sea 

and the flowers in the fields 

the meadow

the way the tall grass sways 

how it feels to play in the fields

i love the sunset 

but also the sunrise 

the surprise of the sky 

the sherbet colored clouds 

but also the stars 

the way the sky and the mountains mesh together 

how you can’t tell the difference at 3:00am 

the specks of light that linger above 

how you can find the ones you love in the brightest constellation 

and maybe this isn’t what you were looking for

maybe 

you wanted my family tree 

my blood type 

where i got the scar 

on my left arm 

but this is all i know 

that i find comfort in the changing leaves 

how they morph just like you and me 

how i find peace in knowing the tide will always come back in 

how it cools the dips of my skin 

the way the water on the oregon coast coats my flesh purple 

how it pierces my skin 

the salt seeping into my cracked scars 

just like the one on my left arm 

the way cold water feels almost warm 

how the numbing decays 

and warmth takes its place

i think my favorite flower is a dandelion 

it’s not particularly pretty 

but in the reflection of the petals 

i see my sister and i 

we’re sitting in the grass 

it’s green and taken care of 

the sun is shining 

flowers blooming 

the sky blue 

clouds on the horizon, glooming 

she holds the flower under my chin 

reflecting off my skin - the color yellow. 

“you like butter” she says 

it something our mother taught us 

who is swaying on the porch swing with my great grandmother 

who hadn’t yet forgotten my name 

she’s eating frozen marshmallows and hollering at us 

and we put the dandelion under each of their chins 

so yes, rose are red 

violets are blue 

and zinnia’s are beautiful, tulips too 

but dandelions are my favorite 

when is see them growing in the meadow out past my uncle’s fence 

i see that old brick house 

on the road intersecting hood street 

with the blue trim and the old white car 

the slit in the sidewalk i’d always trip over 

and the house across the way 

with the overgrown lawn 

and the man who always waved 

and the scooter we’d ride down the driveway 

i see my sister and i sitting there - a dandelion in each hand 

i can hear the laughter 

the creaking of the hinges on the rotting away porch swing 

the tomato bush on the left 

and the big oak tree on the right 

i hear the crunching of the frozen marshmallows 

the sound of the paintbrush against the little wooden bookcases my great grandma had bought us 

the flash of the camera 

the river dancing dvd on the tv 

and the clickety clack of the miniature dolls we used to play with 

i see those pottery ladybugs by the fireplace 

those plastic apples i’d always try to bite into 

the smell of chocolate cake and strawberry ice cream 

the little cabinet under the stairs we had decorated 

the nook in the window, books piled in the corners 

the bedroom on the second floor 

the collection of peanuts books with charlie brown on the cover 

the smell that lingered in the halls 

woven into that awful pink carpet 

that old garage with the tennis ball hanging from the ceiling 

the circle table always tipped on its side 

and the display of seashells between the first and second floor 

and i know this isn’t what you were looking for 

because i’m looking at your face 

the way the sun reflects off of it 

a puzzled expression 

because you just wanted to know what my parents do for work. right? 

how many siblings i have. 

where i grew up

what’s my major 

you just wanted the basics. right? 

but if you happen to get me flowers

please pick the dandelions in the meadow past my uncle's fence. 

and maybe you weren’t curious 

but now you’ll know 

you’ll know why i hold them against my chest 

why i look into the petals and hold them under your chin 

and whisper to you that you like butter 

i’m sorry for being like this 

so detailed and disoriented 

how i see things in flower petals 

and memories in thawed out marshmallows 

i know it’s not normal 

i know i’m the kind of girl you’ll laugh about with your friends over beer 

i know i’m different 

the way changing leaves make me cry 

but don’t you think it’s beautiful? 

how we have the freedom to change over time 

don’t you think it’s wonderful? 

you ask me who i am 

what’s my story

everyone has one you say

what's yours 

i’m holding the iced mocha that you bought me in my hand 

with my name scribbled in sharpie 

“emma” it reads 

i want to tell you that i am begging to be loved 

or liked 

or maybe even just tolerated 

for someone to listen 

and to care 

and i just can’t bare to be rejected again 

but i don’t 

i can’t come across as desperate 

so i mumble sorry under my breath  

but before i can finish

you pick up the dandelion in the grass below us 

you place it under my chin 

waiting for the yellow to appear 

“you don’t like butter” you say and i shake my head 

and i peer at the tree above us 

how its leave form in the colors of red, orange and yellow 

“you’ve changed” you mumble and i nod 

and you place the dandelion behind my left ear