By Lisa Bellamy

I am exhausted by my confusion,
wary of sudden fires,
but dandelions, it seems, have dug in
for the long haul, and to them
I offer 10,000 bows—
I witness the indignities they endure,
the insults (weed, useless stem,
filthy stalk). I admire
their stand against savagery, poisons,
brutal mowing; stalwart
resistance of the taproots.
I lie among them, listen
to their whispers: we will not be moved.

Lisa Bellamy studies with Philip Schultz at The Writers Studio, where she also teaches. Bellamy has received a Pushcart Prize and Fugue Poetry Prize and is the author of two poetry collections: The Northway and Nectar. The UN Network on Migration featured her poem “Yoho” in a 2022 photography, video, and poetry exhibition. Read more at lisabellamypoet.com.