Dandelions

Yesterday I saw 2 young boys walking along a busy road
They stopped to look through a wire fence into someone’s backyard
And one reached down where the yard met the sidewalk
And picked a dandelion
The other boy turned to leave
But the one with the dandelion reached out and tapped his shoulder
Staying right where he was
The flower so gently in his hand
He stretched out his arm, handing it off to the other boy
Who smiled and to the stem with his thumb and index finger
I watched it go from one small hand to another
If either one said anything
it was hidden by the cars and buses driving by not 5 feet from them

I’m not sure how old the boys were
Young though
Young enough to beauty was not something to have or to conquer
Beauty was something to find, hold, share, give.
Beauty was something that was still easy to see;
A dandelion is a gift received with a smile.

Sometimes I wake up after week of my eyes shaving been glued to my shoes
By the smell of the ocean
Or some other scent of my childhood -
a time when I was always looking up; around

I’m brought back by the sound of someone I care about laughing
I can’t help by look up in time to catch their smile
How many smiles will I get to see?
There is no point in keeping count
How ever many - it’s not enough

There are so many things that are hungry
For a sense of humor
For an eye for beauty
For a feeling of peace
So hungry that they’ll swallow someone whole to get it
Lucky for me I know someone with a good rope
And a good laugh
To lead me back

For if all we have are dandelions
Each one is still a gift.