Dandelion

By Julie Lechevsky

<sub>My science teacher said
there are no monographs
on the dandelion.

Unlike the Venus fly-trap
or Calopogon pulchellus,
it is not a plant worthy of scrutiny.

It goes on television
between the poison squirt bottles,
during commercial breakaways from Ricki Lake.

But that's how life
parachutes
to my home.

Home,
where they make you do
what you don't want to do.

Moms with Uzis of reproach,
dads with their silencers.
(My parents watch me closely because I am their jewel.)

So no one knows how strong
a dandelion is inside,
how its parts stick together,
bract, involucre, pappus,
how it clings to its fragile self.

There are 188 florets in a bloom,
which might seem a peculiar number,
but there are 188,000 square feet
in the perfectly proportioned Wal-Mart,
which allows for circulation
without getting lost.

I wish I could grow like a dandelion,
from gold to thin white hair,
and be carried on a breeze
to the next yard.</sub>


,.~*' My Reaction '*~.,

The poet compared quality of a person’s life to a life of a dandelion, and I've always thought that weeds were somewhat beautiful, not because its appearance but for the similar reason the poet presented. Even though weeds, like dandelions and anything people do not favor, are not pretty as flowers that attract bees or as contributive as big trees that produce air, they are pretty strong. I really liked the poet’s use of personification on the dandelion, as she said, “It goes on television”, and is squirted with a poison bottle as a part of the commercial. Also this poem was written in free verse, without using any type of true or off rhymes, or even couplets, but informality and fluidness of the poem stimulates an imagery of a dandelion as a real person, always weeded, sprayed with poison, and stepped on but he or she always seem to grow back no matter how hostile their environment is. So if someone were a dandelion, he or she may not be so attractive or special on the outside, but they are strong and determined in the inside. Whenever I look at a weed, I first think why it's there and stealing nutrition from the yard's grass and flowers, but then I feel like the weed is disliked too much and it's lonely. It's not praised for its beauty or given nutritious food for better growth, but just stared at and called an annoyance. In reality, it doesn't mean harm, but it just wants to live. So sometimes I feel sympathy for it, but it seems to flourish no matter what circumstance, and sometimes I wish I could be like a weed. Not that I want to be annoying or leech others, but even though I may not be so special in people's eyes, I want to have such strength and will to move on. Even though this poem lacked metaphors or similes to express and describe the concept, the poem was simple yet direct to the point, not by words but by images. I loved the last stanza of the poem, and this poem shows that someone's quality is not always determined by outside beauty or what you are to others, but how much will and strength you have.