Danielle Hance
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Picking Dandelions
Picking dandelions,
worthless yellowness,
weeds, actually,
but deserving of
a vase because I,
age five, picked them
for my mom,
plucking them
from the lawn,
grass blades stroking
my bare calves.
The sticky stems
and tickling
tassel tops
delight my little hand.
Mom will be proud.
Mom will smile,
bend over to give me a hug,
her hair brushing my eyelashes
as she stands back up
to find a vase,
a clear plastic cup,
for her bouquet.
Head-banging Fish vs. Plexiglas
Aphrodite, goldfish
2.2 inches long
Aquarium, rectangular
10 gallons of H20 strong
discontented
fiery orange
psychotic swimmer
circling, circling,
a boxer in a
ring,
jab left fin,
spin
head first into
stiff tank wall, dazed
rebound,
pump fins,
swimming start,
upper cut,
stinging downward
blow, glass doesn’t
give, standstill, filter
buzz, no escape, tank,
an enclosing
transparent barricade
doesn’t
budge, one final
try, hook right fin, deflecting
knock out punch, gloating
glass, floating
fish, battered swollen head,
one eye shut,
once puckered lip, a
hang nail,
fuzzy scales of white,
fringing shredded fins black,
bloated
belly
up.
Poems are copyrighted and property of Danielle Hance. If you would like to use one of these poems, please e-mail me at
[email protected]
. Thank you!