the lion's tooth

I used to be a thumb-size sun—

before I was told that wearing yellow

is too friendly, too open,

too inviting;

before

I turned inwards

& folded my petals shut.

When I opened again,

I was fuller

—an orb of feather-headed

enamel umbrellas—

appearing impenetrable,

the way drops of water seem to be

encased in sheets of glass.

Glass shatters,

& I can too. Each piece

of me can be blown away;

my crown is brimmed

with wishes, thousands of wishes,

& none of them are for me.

But, I do not break.

I carry my seeds.

I bite back

now.