Preserving Dandelions
by Jennifer Lejman
I practice playing dead
For the real thing,
For the day it finally happens
And that last dandelion is plucked
And it’s all gone
And I’m gone
And no one can ever save me,
Because my last hope
Just plucked all that was left of me
Held it in the sun for a moment,
Then tossed it into the creek.
There goes my heart, downstream.
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