To Pick Her Dandelions
Sonnet II: Coming to terms with trauma
Upon the lawn, an ersatz, golden head,
The shame of a stepmother’s gilded blade,
Where nose-breaking blooms in beds are shit-fed,
She waxed within the moonpool of my shade.
Lionization bit the morning bed,
With switchback fire caught from southern skies,
Her sharp-tongued roots were deep and causal red,
Like the rough rouge painted in mirrored lies.
And soon Narcissus must answer a ghost,
In rubber spheres of bands against my neck,
To ride winds that haunt a forgiven coast
And find a life within diurnal wreck.
A thousand dandelions take flight and sow,
To bloom again wherever the breezes blow.
About the Creator
Paul Aaron Domenick
I taught high school English for 18 years but never developed my own writing and style until three years ago. Since then I have been submitting my work to publications. In exchange with others, my words constantly surface but never arrive.
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Comments (2)
It sprouted in the moon-scorched earth of my heart Narcissus with fleshy lips and awl-sharp teeth. Now, like a dandelion, it spreads roots to reach me, And the slimy rootlets drip fake pink blood, disgusting. No leash of free wind Can measure a soul free and beautiful. With love and deep emotion.Τears my brother, tears. Wow, and again..
I wrote this sonnet in the middle of the night with the poetic urge to come to some terms with my stepmother's abuse and my forgiveness of her. My trauma will forever be a scar, but that's okay. It has made me stronger.