Dandelion
I wonder whether
my neighbor knows
what he’s doing
spraying poison
on the dandelions
in his yard. The taproots
push down twelve feet,
drawing nutrients
to the surface, enriching
the soil. The grass
of his lawn will grow
lush on the gift
of nutrients until
Taraxacum officinale
can’t compete with
taller, faster,
shallow-rooted grasses
running across the surface
of the dirt. In a year or two
the dandelion disappears
from the yard, having already
thrown its seed to the wind.
I wonder whether
my neighbor has noticed
the yellow flowers opening at dawn
and closing at dusk
like us or
the broken stems exuding
a milky latex that tastes
of regret or
the florets arranging themselves
into blowballs
of fine barbed hairs.
I want to tell my neighbor,
my friend who’s kind to my dog
and courteous to my wife,
who waves at me now
as he carries groceries
from his car
the dent-de-lion is edible
from white root to yellow flowerhead,
its tender medicine
exactly what our polluted bodies
need, its abundant florets
a vital spring nectar
for the bees. The science nerd
in me wants to say
the tap-rooted, perennial,
herbaceous dandelion
quickly adapts to local stressors
resulting in thousands of
microspecies, but in the end
I smile and wave at my neighbor
who like me
and the Norwegian rat,
the smallpox virus,
and the tree of heaven
belongs to an invasive species
nature will deal with
in due time. I want to explain
we should be more
like this weed, inconspicuous
in the cracks of sidewalk,
tenacious, useful,
with deep roots and a sly
life, resourceful, finding our home
in the disturbed earth,
leaving the tired soil better
than we found it. The winged
seed clings to our clothes,
lifts on the wind from passing trains,
spreading with us across
the continent
while we unknowingly carry
the corrective to our sins.
In the cracks of asphalt,
in the broken ground,
in the abandoned field
of the demolished house,
among the tumble of brick
and block and rebar rising out of rubble,
out of bomb crater and bulldozed gravel,
out of disaster and mayhem,
out of disorder and ugly order,
out of beautiful neglect
wilding occurs, and so
on thin white wings
the seed settles
unnoticed,
bringing life to ruined places.
MICHAEL SIMMS’s most recent collections of poetry are American Ash and Nightjar, both published by Ragged Sky Press. Read More
Michael Simms’ poem “Dandelion” is from Nightjar (Ragged Sky Press, 2021). Copyright Michael Simms.