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Dandelions
February 8, 2011
She brought a dandelion to her stained fall-colored lips.
She supported the stem, like wicker hopes and glass dreams.
With eyes crushed shut and floating lips,
she demolished the hoary beauty.
When the glossy brown stones emerged from the crush
and a salty drop curled to clean the stain,
she whispered a scream,
“If I have to destroy something so beautiful
For my wishes to come true I wont wish anymore,
I’ll only hope.”
We’re all dandelions.
© Meghan T., Scottsdale, AZ
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