Letter to the Grass

(for Aoife)

I was mowed as well yesterday. 
Only in the most desperately grasslike circumstances would I ask these
     words in all of their grassness,
circumstances like "decapitated" and "similar." 

What do you want from me?

I have never attacked the green race as a whole
(being unusually tall, I once denied one of your ranks access to the sun,
     actually, for a day.
soles die fast.  Are you blank and still enough to ripple like a pond,
hitting the edge and back
from that?)

Can I blame jealousy? 
Have you never felt the sun as it hit you? Am I just too tall?
Is it a problem because I am easily larger and more virile
and I flower?  My spores float on the wind- yours grasp and wrangle
     in the soil.

Can I blame myself?
The deciders, they like you better. But my seeds cannot grow to BE
     grass height...
they are not easily stunted.  Weeds are weeds for a reason
and your stalks can not heighten to disguise the offender!
You don't have it in you! 

I cannot imagine a relationship
more suited to mutual hopelessness.

I tower
and you squint.
I bend through the middle
and your tips ripple in droves.

I cannot blame the grass for my misfortunes.

Blades are the fate of the dandelion. 


-Citron