Paper Wings

There is a gathering of parachute

dandelions in your backyard,

just beyond your picket fence of freedom.

Some grow defiantly, others

worship the darkness, a shadow of a boot.

You pluck one that might be your

mother/sister/daughter because

to blood-stained gloves they are all weeds,

blow her hopes to the wind of men,

justify the sacrifice with

“I made a wish to protect the

dandelion seeds.” When really,

I want to steal her water and light.

Your wish for life is herbicide

that poisons every flower and every seed.

Now there are only broken stems—

the unbound dreams little girls

used to chase in fields

now lie crushed

just beyond your picket fence of teeth.

But do not forget: we are

wild, resilient flowers that thrive

in barren ground.

-A.J