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.