In one puff, you were gone, like the wind carrying the fuzzy seeds of the dandelion, you continued, the green stem of hope remaining with me. Between tiny fingers which dug in the rain splattered earth, gnawing for treasures left by survivors, nails painted in pretty pink which had chipped away quickly, like the chocolate bunny's ears missing from eager, stealing teeth. From behind the beds of iris, daffodils or were they buttercups? Blue eyes stopped believing, just for a time, that there were Indian head coins, arrowheads or gold; a mist of loss washed over me, my wishes caught up in the wind with a never ever wanted feeling of losing you, my made-up childhood friend.
About the Creator
ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)
~ American feminist living in Sweden ~ SHE/HER
Admin. Vocal Social Society
Find me: @andreapolla63.bsky.social


Comments (9)
Oh, the fleeting childhood friends. I really enjoyed your poem.
Oh no, another IF bites the dust (or is blowing in the wind?)! Perhaps Ryan Reynolds can find a way to save your IF.
What an emotion-filled, powerful piece! Your format adds a sense of concentrated urgency. I like! 🤩
🫰🏼
Awwwww - you painted this picture perfectly in words - fabulous!
Your poem reminds me of my late best friend. I loved it.
This was so poignantly beautiful. I loved it!
Strangely nostalgic.
Well-wrough and lovely sentiments! A childhood ritual: blow the dandelion fluff into the air, make a wish, spin in circles until you get dizzy, and fall to the grass where the spinning sky will yield what answers it can through the shifting clouds.