Dandelion Roots

She has a tumbledown deck, a creaky rocker. Dandelion seeds carry memories from one neglected garden patch to another. She’s not that old, but her wine has mulled, a hard sun has scoured her features. There were children once. They play now upon her mind as crippled backwoods memories. The ‘law’ took them, and the grinding years brewed more bitter coffee, while on the decking coffee cans were filled with cigarette butts. ‘No-good lovers’ still occasionally practiced their shoddy dance steps, but even the one night stands have dwindled to hasty matinee tumbles. Few life choices were well made or unpaid for, yet in the ***-end of each day she wanders upon her dandelion patch, and prays to the girl she once was, then she retires to a tousled bed to sleep with the rootless shadows that float as light as air through her ramshackle nights.