dandelions in spring

Dedicated to Carlo and Rose Levitan, may you both grow like dandelions in spring.

when i was a little girl, my mother used to whisper to me
to sooth my cries as she dropped me off at daycare
or the howls erupting while she detangled my hair
and even when my brother was caught
performing surgery on my teddy bears–

“child, you are just growing like a dandelion in spring”

and i kept her words planted in the depths of my soul
photosynthesizing the sporadic beams of light trickling into our home
fertilized by fathers with brutal hands and a vicious control
and watered with the hope they would someday blossom gold

but as i grew from a child at three-foot-two,
into somebody with slightly more elevated views
i found myself trudging through that overgrown field of frost
my knees growing bruised with all the violence it took to become this soft
stomping over what shrubs i could as they buried me up to my ribcage
my ankles were splintered with the thorns of my own rose-petal wrapped rage
and the blood gushed down as i waded through these flowers fragrant with coming of age

as the seasons passed, my icy breath transformed into humid air
as did the days of crying over a stuffed animal’s wear and tear
transforming into heartbreak over my teenage love affairs
and the children once giggling over all their truths and dares
became boys with tripping lungs and girls dancing on chairs

and again i stood looking out to the horizon’s miles of dread
the kind with sticky air that blistered my back until it shown red
the ground quaked with embarrassment of the all social cues i misread
and the wind howled with all the truths i had left unsaid
until my hair nearly blew from my scalp
like the memories i wished i could force from my head

and as my little legs ran as fast as they could away from that twisted place
over pavement held together by nothing but my own regret and retrace
i slipped on the cracked asphalt and found my body planted face-down in the concrete
and i layed there for a bit, asking myself if this was the moment death and i would meet
but when i finally began to push myself back up and removed my aching hands from the grimy boulevard
my breathing hitched as i saw bright, yellow dandelions sprouting from sliced cracks in the tar.

and you too, my friend, will at moments find yourself knee-deep in fields of weeds
surrounded by spirits showering you in their opinions of judgment and disparage
or running through forests of devastating guilt and most engulfing grief
perhaps you will even lose everything you thought you knew through the forage
or in those moments you look to the sky and beg for someone to answer your pleas

and yet

the dandelions will continue to bloom from ever-incessant seeds
planting themselves into the depths of your soul and repairing
all your suffering with a wish upon their white, wispy leaves
quietly cultivated during your stormy days of pure cursing and swearing
until one warm evening, you let yourself lie in the petals of your own insane daring.

and all the buried pieces of your being that were presumed dead
will have merely decomposed into fertilizer for the flowerbeds
and one day your little legs will carry you up the senior steps
and the nights of mla citations and college applications will be far behind you
along with the eleven pm ‘won’t you please send the homework texts’
as you cross the highway of adolescence with fields of weeds behind you
may you too, find golden flowers emerging from the potholes and beshrew

in the moments you will laugh until your stomach feels it may just drop with your knees to the floor
and dance until your feet implore you to sit while your heart can’t stop begging for more
in the days you wave to strangers unaware you will soon be intertwined and growing old together
and the evenings returning home to the arms of a lover when the world applies it’s pressure
all the magnificent wonders and fleeting glory this life has to bring
as you and i grow, like dandelions in spring.

Copyright © 2025 Anita Marie Julca