Dandelion Fritters

By Bex Hoffer

March 14, 2022

Dandelion Fritters

Fingers flower-yellow.

I want to make a poem from those words, but as always, line breaks trip me up like wires at ankle-height. Still, yes, my fingertips are tinged yellow, blessed by the blossoms of dandelion suns. How they snap and fizz in their bath of golden oil, how their cinnamon sweetness mingles with incense in the air. I’ve never made fritters before. We invent the recipe as we go along, my roommate and I. Though she is more than a roommate: a best friend, an almost-lover. I love her. That’s close enough to poetry for me.

An hour ago, we bent over the quiet riot of a little-tended field and plucked fragrant morsels from their stems, slowly filling an upside-down hat between us. Our hair was dark with sweat. We'd been on our way home from the gym, looking forward to shampoo and clean clothes, but when we saw the ocean of lemon-colored flowers to the side of the road, there was no question. We left the car parked crooked with its windows still down. Had anything ever smelled so good as that stretch of sun-warmed pasture?

Of course it was her beside me, crouching childlike among the weeds. Of course it’s her in this kitchen, clacking her tongs, imitating a crab, while I dip dandelions in honeyed batter and laugh. There are many people I love, but she is the one who plays in the dirt with me and eats things we find on the ground.


Bex Hoffer lives in Indianapolis with three of her favorite people and three naughty yet beloved cats. Her writing has been published in Ball Bearings Magazine, The Broken Plate, Dive In Magazine, and The Odyssey, and she's proud to be a former River Teeth intern.


Picture by Daniel Absi courtesy of Pexels 

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