Dandelions

Things did not go as planned.

I stare into the emergency room ceiling tiles

full of black lines that look like

dandelion seeds exploding across the sky.

I do not cry,

just stare…

float with these wishes in the wind,

somewhere sunny and warm

and not a hospital bed.

Dandelions are a wild flower known for their bright disposition,

golden petals that fall off one by one until they look like they have lost everything,

but when all the pretty things have fallen away

and they look like they have nothing left,

they do something unexpected.

Rather than wither and die,

they sprout a seed head, with up to 200 seeds per flower.

A whole dandelion plant can only produce ten flowers,

but those ten flowers release almost 2,000 seeds-

2,000 possibilities that each go on to make 2,000 more possibilities.

That’s why we wish on them,

especially when things do not go as planned.

The nurse tells me we can stop if I need a break,

I ignore her,

thinking of all the possibilities in this white sterile sky,

of all the hope so many seeds could carry,

and how many of them would never bloom into the dream the dreamer dreamt,

but they would bloom into a new flower to wish on,

into more possibilities.

A sky full of possibilities.

I am here because things did not go as planned

and so there was a possibility…

that I could not take care of long enough to bring to fruition.

A possibility that was real but now isn’t.

And that, too, did not go as planned

So now my reality is staring at a ceiling of pretend possibilities

wishing none of this had ever happened.

I am lucky

I live in New York

I know this,

but every doctor and nurse is sure to remind me.

“I just can’t believe what this country is coming to”

they say

and I agree.

The decision was easy

if the process wasn’t.

The world is on fire,

I’m already eight days late on my rent as is,

and my body can barely play host to myself,

much less anything else.

It’s simply unrealistic to think that either of us

could survive that way.

This is the compassionate choice for both of us.

I’ve never been afraid to write anything,

but I’m afraid of this poem.

I’m not afraid of the honesty,

I’m afraid if I write this poem,

some ass backwards Christian nationalist

will find it while I’m down South

and I’ll be charged for a crime

that is not a crime,

just a choice.

So I’ll write about dandelions.

And possibilities

that hang in the air for a brief period of time,

before falling to the ground unrealized.

See, even those seeds

give life to thousands of other seeds that sprout

into dreams that do come true.

Possibilities that become real

When the time is right.