The Geometry of Dandelions
Google the phrase, and notice
in magnified precision so many
lines criss-crossed like city streets,
like snowflakes caught the instant before
the melting, these fragile planets captured
the second before a sudden wind
disperses this fluff in germinative
splendor, for this is the stuff of science
and art coupled, the tiny white feather
duster tips, the velvet black background
of the photograph, the memories
called to mind of blowing these minute
mock balloons to smithereens,
the milky dew that spills from plucked
stems, the tough green crabgrass rooted
in sand or in loam, the smell of growth
on your fingers, this spirograph map of your world
exploding from the merest whiff
of your toddling breath, like a firework burst
on a summer night, like a meteor never
destined to become a meteorite
exploding in space, its particles insistent
on descent, but, miraculous, they rise
through uncharted skies to become, somewhere, stars
no physicist charts, cores blazing too hot
to imagine the death they will cool to some day,
and all of this drama, this inanimate rage,
takes place on a stage light years beyond
the spot your feet plant to as you stretch your neck
backward (obtuse angle, mad hyperbola)
and begin the necessary inhale.
in magnified precision so many
lines criss-crossed like city streets,
like snowflakes caught the instant before
the melting, these fragile planets captured
the second before a sudden wind
disperses this fluff in germinative
splendor, for this is the stuff of science
and art coupled, the tiny white feather
duster tips, the velvet black background
of the photograph, the memories
called to mind of blowing these minute
mock balloons to smithereens,
the milky dew that spills from plucked
stems, the tough green crabgrass rooted
in sand or in loam, the smell of growth
on your fingers, this spirograph map of your world
exploding from the merest whiff
of your toddling breath, like a firework burst
on a summer night, like a meteor never
destined to become a meteorite
exploding in space, its particles insistent
on descent, but, miraculous, they rise
through uncharted skies to become, somewhere, stars
no physicist charts, cores blazing too hot
to imagine the death they will cool to some day,
and all of this drama, this inanimate rage,
takes place on a stage light years beyond
the spot your feet plant to as you stretch your neck
backward (obtuse angle, mad hyperbola)
and begin the necessary inhale.
Jo Angela Edwins has published poems in various venues including Whale Road Review, Naugatuck River Review, Calyx, Hunnybee, The Literary Nest, and Zone 3. Her chapbook, Play, was published in 2016. She is the first poet laureate of the Pee Dee Region of South Carolina. She teaches at Francis Marion University in Florence, South Carolina.Jo Angela Edwins has published poems in various venues including Whale Road Review, Naugatuck River Review, Calyx, Hunnybee, The Literary Nest, and Zone 3. Her chapbook, Play, was published in 2016. She is the first poet laureate of the Pee Dee Region of South Carolina. She teaches at Francis Marion University in Florence, South Carolina.
Art: Molly Dunham