Wild Dandelion Dreams

I get lost in Pluto’s remaining eye; not the planet, but the red-eyed black cat a friend crafted out of a story by Poe. I stare until my pain blurs the feline’s smirk. Still, my mind can’t ignore what the Cecilios are cooking for dinner—wild dandelion greens with vinegar and garlic, by the sour smell and weediness of the flowers’ screams.

The Cecilios are good people. They took me in, and treat me well, after so many other foster families had used faith and fist to beat their demons out of me. I just wish they could sense the dandelions’ suffering.

I close my eyes, take deep breaths, and begin building a stone wall between my facial expressions and the flower’s hurt. I dislike dulling my perception of their feelings—if they have to endure the agony, the least I can do is acknowledge it—but if the Cecilios think me mad, they’ll throw me out before I can offer any help to anyone.

When my wall feels sturdy enough, I walk back to the Cecilio’s home, thinking, Rest in peace, little sisters, I promise I to find a way to reclaim your spirit. 

I stumble when I reach the Cecilio’s kitchen. My wall cracks under a wave of phantom heat, and the garden of terrifyingly hopeful voices that whispers through.

“We hear you, big sister,
dreams and blooms burned in their dark
will sprout in your light.”

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #46: Different Points of View (the prompt asks for one piece of poetry or prose written from two different points of view. I chose to combine the two in fictional haibun, the prose from the point of view of one character and the senryu from the point of view of other characters).