The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2020

Wildfower Raeanne Walker Little and wide eyed, I would pick wild flower bouquets in the valleys and dips of the Nevada Desert. Leave them, stems cut, in glass vases and weave the leftovers into my hair. Accumulation of dried dandelion stems and knapweed bulbs to get tangled up in long brown strands. I would sit for hours on a little plastic stool as my mom pulled them out. She would brush my hair smooth plait it into braids, crying silently. The next day, my bare feet dirty and tough stepping on rocks and goatheads, and hot Nevada sand. Eager to bury my toes in ant hills and mud puddles after the rain. My mom ready and waiting at home to wash my feet off, pull clean white socks over them. 36 The Meadow