by Ray Ball

ˈdan-də-ˌlī-ən (noun) 1: a small, bright yellow flower that flourishes whether the environment is harsh or bountiful with seeds more tenacious than hope. Make a wish and blow them away, lighter than feathers dispersed by the slightest of breezes. 2: a noxious weed poisoned by suburban dwellers determined to control nature, conquer the outdoors. Mr. Capulet and Mr. Montague are out at dawn every summer Saturday with grudges, weedkiller, and lawnmowers. Mrs. Montague and Mrs. Capulet compete in the annual garden show, pack nutritious lunches their children don’t eat. 3: a flowering plant of the Asteraceae family. Sister of Daisy. Sibling of Sunflower. Daughter of the late Cretaceous period. Stamens and antlers joined. Copious producer of nectar. 4: Monks-head; Milk-witch; Faceclock. Friend and nurse-maid to the apothecary. If only Juliet would have taken such a tonic instead of that dulling draft.

ˈdan-də-ˌlī-ən (adj.) 1: a dramatic shade of yellow as in the color of teenage crushes written on cheeks. Leo as Romeo, yes. Claire as Juliet, even more yes. I was too afraid to tell my friend that she looked like Claire. Not as we wept. Not as we studied Shakespeare’s comedies, like As You Like It. Histrionic hue as in everything feeling so keen and sharp and jagged like the leaves the plant is named for: lion’s tooth. My heart had been wounded by the claws of a lion.

Ray Ball currently lives on the land of the Dena’ina, where she works as a history professor at the University of Alaska Anchorage. She is the author of the poetry collection Trinities (Louisiana Literature Press, 2023). Ray’s poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Free State Review, Glass, Orange Blossom Review, and Waccamaw. Ray has received multiple nominations for Pushcart and been a Best of the Net finalist. She is senior editor at Coffin Bell and assistant editor Juke Joint. You can find her on Instagram @runninghistory.