mother tells me the dandelions are weeds

disrupting the fragile balance of this garden

metastasizing over roots and flowers

disquieting the lives well-led

she demands i uproot them

winnow out the unworthy

expel them from the earth

a compulsory task

she doesn’t know their secret

(or maybe she doesn’t care)

but i know–

i know every single seed

contains multitudes

golden threads 

braided across time–

a refrain of past lives

hidden treasure

some childish hope

disguised beneath

gentle armor

a wish released and sold

the bees agree!

flashes of gold

zipping toward the weeds

the very same

parts of a whole

i sit amongst my weeds

listen

for the whispers

of a thousand wishes

promised on the wind