Dandelions on the brain

by Kevin T McEneaney

Dead-heading dandelions on the lawn,

squeezing the yellow juice of the flower,

will do nothing at all for the landscape—

for the dandelion exceeds our thought

and even place on this dizzy planet.

Why can’t we make a truce with our planet

which we abuse with chemicals and war?

Why prefer the process of destruction

to the newness of loving creation?

Is it that we resent our mortality

in the ragged teeth of the dandelion

upon which we trod for millions of years?

We are both more and less than we conceive.

What trumpet sounds for the fate of our earth?

Kevin T McEneaney

Author of The Enclosed Garden, Longing, and other books