Dandelion Soul

My body was born in icterine—so jaundiced

my mother thought I’d always have sunflower skin.

And, yes, my flesh soaks up sunlight, but I spread mixed

wildflowers where I walk and root wherever I can.

Sometimes I still itch to stretch towards the sun and wrap

my arms around them, allowing my existence to follow theirs,

but I cannot—will not—live at the mercy of another.

The sun cannot be mine, so I cannot be theirs.

No, I prefer wind carrying my dandelion seed soul to

raised flower beds and sidewalks where I don’t belong,

so I can hear and grant wishes from those who hold wonder in

unremarkable, white weeds and send me further than wind ever could.