Lois Elaine Heckman

My mother once envisioned me
to be
a stately calla. How silly!
A lily!
That was what she sought,
but I’m not.
I can’t comply to what she thought.
Even now she’s haunting me,
whispering she’s wanting me
to be a lily, but I’m not.

I’m a lowly dandelion,
tryin’
to survive the flow,
not to go
too high or take the lead.
To cede
this sunny smile is all I need.
I convolute with every gust
and curve to carry on; I’m just
trying not to go to seed.