a strange spring induced dream

standing in the backyard of

Tom and Linda Coffey

spring, 1996:

i am consoling my uncle.

he is distraught over the loss of his wife.

my father stands next to me with wise words

my 21 year-old arm, wrapped around his shoulders.

my uncle cups his face in his rough, ruddy hands.


i begin picking the buttery golden blooms

of dandelions growing wild in the grass.

i don't hold them up to my chin

like i did when i was 8

to see if i was the sort of boy who liked butter.

instead, i eat them by the handful

recalling bradbury's dandelion wine

and how i longed to know what it tasted like.

at least in this place they are delicious.


i have wandered to the opposite corner of my yard.

my father and uncle have followed me

wrapped up in their own, grown-up conversations.


i notice my mother and her sister.

they are standing at the back door.

they seem excited about something.

they want me to come in the house;

congratulate my brother on his bride to be.

i am unconvinced and continue picking flowers.

my mother says something like, "he needs you"

and then, sadly, "you're his only brother."

i reply quietly, "not for long."

suddenly i'm alone with a lonely uncle.

i ask him if he's tried eating dandelions.

he croons, "i always thought it was just a weed."

i feel sorry for his loss and offer him one.

he receives it and smiles,

glad to be in my company.