The Dandelion's Hair
Walked barefoot over the shaded concrete,
bathing my feet in the refreshing coolness of a shaded lane.
Was mesmerized by the twirl of the butterfly
and it asked me to dance.
Entranced with its charm, I couldn't help but say yes
and was lost in a dervish wonder.
Came to a full stop, the end of a profound sentence,
when the dandelion spoke.
Picked it up to make a wish, but the wind came
blew half of its hair away.
Was saddened for a moment, perhaps this was a sign
my wish was not meant to be.
Dawned on me,
I realized then
my voice had already been carried from the silent depths of my mind.
The universe had already conspired to make the vision a reality.
The phone rang.
A smile escaped my mouth.
I went home.
But he didn’t.
Standing two feet next to me, survive
Shrapnel bleeding though his skin, live,
Wife gave birth, wanted to see the face of his son, smell his
sweet breath, but,
Body laid in a casket with the American flag, cried everyone,
but move an inch,
Died for an honorable cause, understand the purpose of this
Died in naiveté, system taking advantage of the uneducated,
the poor, the needy, leaving behind a widow, a fatherless son,
and parents who outlived him,
The evening sky
like Van Gogh’s Starry night
like a rich woman’s night out
a black velvet shawl
studded with diamonds.
The day sky,
a different vision
a placid blue of cotton ball swirls,
like the movements of a painters brush.
Nature’s art of sky canvas
without the hand of Man.
The only blemish
a black bird
flutters its wings as it passes by
like the mole on a fair face
inherently a thing unwanted,
but here it dazzles.
The sun hits me in the most perfect way
kissing me on the cheek
a little brush of its lip
with its sweet orange taste.
I close my eyes
the faint aroma of a coconut.
Each moment a utopian consummation
lost in dialogue
this emotional intercourse
this chakra roller coaster.
Is this surrender?
I am a container
holding the emotions
of those I interview.
The suffrage, the angst, the release they give with their mouths
and enters my body
transmuted into literary beauty,
but its stench hangs onto my soul.
flying between heaven and earth
high above where even the eagles soar
in a space reserved for gods
how tiny the the buildings are beneath
how cute are the cars
like a child’s playthings
in this mechanical wonder with wings
I am free, unbound
I am without roots, wandering