My Garden is Filled with Dandelions

Do you remember those blue skies in mid July?

Picking dandelions,

Arranging symbols of marigold moments

Behind your ear? In your ponytail?

How old were you when they told you that you had mistaken

That gold reflection of the summertime sun with your mother

For flower petals?

How old were you when they told you those bouquets from rolling hills and days at the park with her

Were no longer beautiful?

Instead, an out-of-control weed that couldn’t stop growing.

But like you,

Their yellow peaks up from cracks in concrete just as it emerges in green fields.

Men in gardens will always try to uproot you.

Try to tame you.

Try to manage the the joyful hue of your childhood.

Never stop growing.

Find beauty in being a weed that blooms.