By Jaclyn Weber
Each of my older sisters has white picket perfect
fenced-in gardens, rose stem tall beanstalk
and willow trees breezy in storybook-
backyards that make The Secret Garden look like somebody’s bitch.
I always wanted to be outdoorsy.
Even the word doesn’t suit me with a name like Betty Marie.
I was made for hot showers, body lotions called,
“Warm Sofa Smell” and I sunburn
on the cloudiest of days—I hate when people call my daughter,
“a special flower.”
Peaking over my fence, commenting on my garden—
How I should prune my roses, if I over water my bushes.
Buy me books titled, How to grow a green thumb for dummies.
12 kinds of tulips even you can’t kill.
No books for dummy mothers.
Parent care for down’s boys and girls.
How to watch them grow, let them soar
and I still haven’t found the right wish to ask the backyard dandelions
Jaclyn Weber is a California native and Graduate of Bradley University. Her work has appeared in Bluestockings Magazine, The Feminist Wire, NonBinary Review and Write Bloody Publishing. Her feminist centered poetry has been performed across the nation at various universities. To read more of her work visit: http://jaclynweber.com/