Simple yellow dandelions
the color of butter
vibrant weeds hung heavily with childhood memories
a caught beam of light
waiting to explode in wishes traveling on the wind.
And she picked them in a pretty bunch to lay across the lap
of the returned one
as a gesture
of her unchanging love.
A river bends and slows but always
the water moves and loves the sky it sparkles under and holds the path gently
even when its crumbling and falling away and chokes the river.
Empty words sprinkled like rain
and even emptier hands now fall to her sides
and she stands mutely screaming
a wrenching cry out and into the universe
why am I not loved?
why am I not enough?
and the universe swallows it
everyone but you
of course my dear child
not you not you not you
But the screams echo
lodged too loud and tight in her ears to hear the answers…
While her bouquet of dandelions
wilt on the curb
where she tossed them
hating the sight of them now
shamed and misfitting
unwelcome even in the smallest of burrows.
Sometimes the color of heartbreak is yellow.
Sometimes the river cries but nobody can see the tears for the water.
Sometimes letting go means you never