"Wildflower"

November 13, 2018; The Sound of Poetry

I’ve never understood why,
But my mother hates wildflowers.
Weeds, she insists on calling them.
Daisies and dandelions, doggedly spreading,
Meandering through mazes and meadows.
I think they’re beautiful, in the same way
Scars and freckles and birthmarks are.
A sort of natural beauty that some find lovely,
But others absolutely detest.
Some think they’re beautiful,
some find them a nuisance.
My stubbornness that some find endearing,
Becomes refusal to compromise.
Spontaneity becomes recklessness,
My frizzy hair becomes a distracting mess.
I love wildflowers because I am one.