Italian Dandelion Salad
Your fronds sway coyly in the afternoon breeze,
sunlight emanating from your translucent skin
the color of Easter grass.
Smuggled from Sicily in a tightly packed case,
your indignity is made final,
sewn carelessly into unfamiliar soils
made high on kitchen compost.
Your edges the ruffle of a fine Elizabethan collar,
are upon closer inspection
tiny armaments, sharp swords.
Even chopped, wilted and dressed,
your ethereal display of spring,
belies the danger within
your bitter, bitter heart.