Dandelions

Regina Solomond

I thought that
dandelions were flowers
until I was told differently.
And that’s my problem,
I believe everything you tell me.

You said a girl
is her reputation.
I learned to cross legs at ankles,
speak when spoken to,
apply light makeup, brush out tangles.

“An obedient
housewife is the best you
can be.” I played nice but never
dreamt of a baby
on my hip, a ring on my finger.

My nails dug crescent
moons into palms when men
called out, but you said to take it
as a compliment.
I tried but still felt violated.

Dandelions scatter seeds to the wind
blown from the lips of children.
I wished to bare my lion teeth.
I wished for weeds
to turn into flowers.