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Undistinguished old dandelion!
Your yellow is predictably Only the color of scrambled eggs. Your fringe-petals have become tacky. You are merely like a little stilled hedgehog. Now though a robin alertly hops by Somehow its beak is not yellow -- And the color of its breast and stomach Is merely the color of those four fallen leaves Covered and uncovered by wind-stirred tree-bough shadows. Taller than grass blades, little white daisies reach; An unmoving beetle's copper body kindles in sunlight; A black fly making ablutions on my light-grey shirt Disappears the moment I shift. Now I recall Dandelions like large-headed mushrooms Fork-lifted by young hands.
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Jonathan BrackerJonathan Bracker’s poems have appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry Northwest, Writer's Digest, and other periodicals; in several small press anthologies; and in seven small press collections. His Concerning Poetry: Poems About Poetry was published this year by the Upper Hand Press. |
