violin made of dandelions
there's only so much time to be golden.
i used to have a stop watch but it broke
& now its committed to telling time.
ran the horses through the water & back
until their hair was ready for bow.
my brother fits inside a music box
& so i pack him up & tell him to hold his breath.
as kids, we opened our mouths to find beaks.
feathers hovering in the air & refusing
to touch ground. i was never made for october.
i was made for a july that stumbles over & over.
the field where we ate our fill of yellow.
song birds going belly-up. a disease spreads
like pollen. string instruments die
& we bury them with their necks
sticking out of the dirt. like all humans
we will find ways to rebuild. hunting
blue jays for flecks of sound. harvesting
dandelions in our pockets & hoping
one will contain a rolled up string.
at night, the sky is full of spines.
look, don't touch. my eyes as glass
as footprints. i pick one dandelion for myself.
find a mirror in the forrest & hold the flower
beneath my chin to see the glow.
i am golden for now. gleaming. no one else
has to know. our secret, my dandelion.
i hear the violin playing itself. maybe
freshly assembled. maybe just a ghost
trudging up an old song. i stick my blossom
in my mouth where no one can take it from me.