Dandelions

 

 

Concrete cracks and median strips,

slivers of dirt between crumbling bricks:

anywhere a seed can blow, can land, anywhere it can squeeze a thread of root

in its search for sustenance.

That’s where a dandelion grows.

 

And somehow, it thrives.

It sprouts a ragged crown of green;

it sports a hollow stem, 

and issues forth a sunshine flower

beloved of children, creating

grubby bouquets in a water glass.

 

It’s a lot like hope: 

hope that sees the possibility,

the potential in a tiny crack,

that needs only a drop of water,

a teaspoon of soil,

and faith in the power of sunshine.

 

And with that shred of hope,

a sunny flower becomes

a star-shower of seeds

whose boundaries are the wind,

who travel farther than imagination,

who transcend expectations and grow.

 

We should all be dandelions.