Taraxacum: Case Study

By Isabelle Sanderson

A controlled experiment on the nature of memory, romance, and dandelions. 

Control:
In summer, I picked two dandelions, 
handing you one, tucking
 the hair behind my ear, 
listening when you told me 
about the girl you liked. 
You blew on yours, 
seeds scattering and 
the stem lie limp 
in your hands 
till it dropped 
unceremoniously 
into a puddle.

x = Expectation
“Most specifically, the expression of Hera, the Greek goddess of marriage and womanhood, gives numerous insights into the expectations of an ideal wife and woman in this culture. We see that she should gain power from her beauty, be obedient to her husband, and not expect that in return from him.”

Most specifically, 
in summer, I picked two dandelions, 
handing you one, tucking the hair 
behind my ear, the Greek goddess of marriage and womanhood
listens when you tell me numerous insights into the expectations of
the girl 
you liked: an ideal wife and woman in this culture. You blew on yours and 
we see that she should gain power from
seeds scattering 
her beauty;
be obedient 
to the stem that lies limp in your hands 
till it drops
unceremoniously.

x = Envy 
In summer, I picked two dandelions 
which smoked with bloody execution and
handing you one, O valiant cousin, 
worthy gentleman tucks the hair behind 
my ear—too full o’ th’ milk of human
kindness—listening when you told me all
about the girl you liked. He unseam'd 
me from the nave to the chaps. You always 
blew on yours. My thought, whose murder yet is 
but fantastical, seeds scattering to 
prick the sides of my intent, but only
the stem lie limp in your hands: a walking 
shadow, a poor player till it dropp’d
unceremoniously, and then is 
heard no more.

x = Fulfillment
“All/Proceed from the heart/And, in consequence/Enter between skin and skin/Do not meet/ each other; and/ Become contracted/ This they say nature has done/ Finding the ways/ between membrane and membrane/ To penetrate into the interior/ To spread out/ And turn back/ The remainder: superfluous” 

In summer, I picked two dandelions 
handing you one,
And, in consequence 
Enter between skin and skin 
tucking the hair behind my ear 
and listening when you told me 
about the girl you liked. 
Do not meet each other; and 
Become contracted 
You blew on yours 
seeds scattering 
This they say nature has done
and the stem lie limp in your hands 
Finding the ways between membrane and membrane 
till it dropped 
To penetrate into the interior 
unceremoniously 
into a puddle. 
The remainder: 

A puddle in summer: 
unceremonious. 
Two dandelions, the girl, the stem, you
scattering. 
I dropped into 
a puddle in summer, 
the hair behind my ear lying limp in your hands. 

Performance

Process

The story of this poem began many years ago with the off-hand creation of another poem: “The Significance of Dandelions.” That poem, hastily written on a Post-it while sitting on a park bench in summer, was never published. However, it was a poem I returned to frequently and used as inspiration for other written work. This was the case when I wrote cut-and-shuffle poems—collages of seemingly unrelated pieces of writing—with my mentor Anna. When deciding what poems to use, I immediately thought back to that summer day and that Post-it. Like a surgeon, I methodically cut and stitched together elements of a thesis essay I wrote for my English class, lines from another poem of mine (“Anatomy 125”), and excerpts from William Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Altogether, the poem started to reveal the many interpretations of one summer’s day.